


take a shot (at my heart)

by byunbaekcute



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: College!AU, M/M, and youths will be youths, but maybe they can be lovers, cats and dogs can't be friends, gang!au sort of, wonwoo is drunk and mingyu is less so, wonwoo is petty and mingyu is more so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:19:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byunbaekcute/pseuds/byunbaekcute
Summary: The first time Mingyu sets his eyes on Wonwoo, they are in the back of some dodgy-ass bar. It's gross, and there's nothing much to see, except that everyone's drunk, and Wonwoo is really not that handsome (he's fucking gorgeous).The first time Mingyu hears Wonwoo's voice, it sends shivers down his spine. It's an electric kinda feeling that nearly knocks him over his feet.The first time Mingyu lays his hands on Wonwoo, his fist collides with his face.—Or, Wonwoo is here on an exchange programme for the next six months, and Mingyu is stuck between wanting him to leave and wanting him to stay.





	1. Chapter 1

Mingyu isn’t in a gang. He doesn’t dig the whole underground, dodging cops thing. Mingyu doesn’t smoke (that much), he rarely (not really) drinks, and he doesn’t have a bunch of tattoos that say ‘Kiss My A$$’ in ugly font scrawled across his ass (like Soonyoung does). Mingyu doesn’t consider himself to be in a gang. He just happens to run in the same circles as a bunch of guys who engage in fist-fights and verbal war with other tougher, more legitimate gangs. Seungcheol, the self-proclaimed leader of the troop, runs a shady business selling cartons of liquor to baby-faced individuals who don’t look a day older than fifteen. Mingyu calls it breaking the law, Seungcheol calls it sharing the love, and Hansol just thinks it’s kinda cool.

 

Jisoo and Jeonghan are masters of the ancient art of rolling blunts; they’re packed with homegrown marijuana from the little terracotta pots Soonyoung has lined up on his window sill. Mingyu doesn't necessarily find it of the best quality— he's tried better ones— and he blames it on the lack of sunshine, while Soonyoung argues that the love he pours into nurturing the plants is better than any kind of photosynthesis wumbo-jumbo bullshit. He certainly would’ve grown it out in the backyard though, if he had one.

 

Each have committed their fair share of petty theft— (except for Jisoo, because he says it goes against his “morals”)— at the nearby supermarket. It’s usually nothing crazier than some snacks for when the night-time munchies hit. The worst was probably when Hansol stole a human-sized bear on impulse, only because he was really, really drunk. It’s not that they can’t afford it, the thrill comes with getting things free-of-charge, and they need it to spice up a boring week of classes. But the boys do feel bad about stealing snacks afterwards, so whenever they _do_ patronise the store, they try to make things up by deliberately dropping loose coins on the ground or asking cashiers to keep the change. Hansol has yet to pay off his teddy bear debt though.

 

Granted, they’re undergraduates in university engaging in what seems to be gang-related activities to everyone except themselves, but Mingyu figures it's fine as long as none of them get arrested.  

 

Besides, it's not like they waste their youth hanging out in dark, brick-walled alleys littered with cigarette buds and empty bottles of cheap beer. No, definitely not. Ever since Seungcheol opened that damn bar, two blocks away from university, its back rooms have served Mingyu and his friends well. They waste their youth in there instead.

 

Still, that doesn't make them gangsters, right? What defines a gangster, anyway?

 

In Mingyu’s humble opinion, their only saving grace is that they kinda work hard in school, and that brings them _that_ much further from being counted as a gang, right? It doesn’t matter that they do the bare minimum required— attending _most_ lectures and attempting _some_ homework, maybe participating in the occasional community service to accumulate credit. Mingyu volunteers at some childcare centre a ten-minute bus ride away from campus with Hansol, and Jisoo lets Jeonghan tag along to help out at his church. Seungcheol is the only exception to this, skipping school to serve up tequila at his bar without so much as a fuck to give. He does donate a portion of his earnings to the local animal shelter’s save-the-strays campaign, though, so Mingyu gives him that much.

 

Mingyu works part-time at the bar too, mostly out of obligation, because Seungcheol has bestowed him with “the magnificent honour of being his best friend”. He’s been trying since God knows when to forget the day Seungcheol christened the bar to be the symbol of their undying, loving friendship, where _what's mine is yours_. Until then, however, Mingyu has no choice but to work off his infinite friendship debt to Seungcheol. At least the bartender uniform makes him look hot, Mingyu sighs— they even come with complimentary cufflinks. Girls visit the bar just to see Mingyu, so that’s pretty nice.

 

While Mingyu doesn’t appreciate how he’s being labelled as a gangster, as cheesy as it sounds, he cannot imagine life without his friends. The time they have spent together dates all the way back to when they were a bunch of rowdy sixteen-year-olds, when they were all classmates for the first two years of high school. The exception to this is Jeonghan— Jisoo met him during his college orientation, and he took such a strong liking to Jeonghan, that the boy was promptly introduced to the rest of the group by the first week of classes. Now, they’re a bunch of rowdy twenty-one-year-olds.

 

It was all fun and games till their second year of university. Mingyu still remembers fondly the times they could steal carts from the supermarket nearby, along with bags of differently-flavored Calbee chips, bottles of milk tea, and a twelve-pack of choco pies. A two-people mission— they even had a duty roster for it. (Mingyu and Soonyoung almost got caught, but just _once._ They had used a shopping cart as an escape vehicle, the smaller of the two sitting cross-legged inside of it, while Mingyu ran the both of them down the street and back to the bar.)

 

Now, Mingyu finds himself sitting out of yet another boy's Friday night out, in favour of attempting to complete his revision in time for the calculus test on Monday. He would've tagged along if not for the fact that his calculus grade has reached an all time low— so much so that the only way _is_ up— and kinda plateaued there. Mingyu’s marks have been fluctuating within a seven-point margin, yet they're all a failing grade. Finals are a little less than three weeks away, and with Mingyu failing every mock paper his teacher prepares for the class, he is finally feeling the pressure to study.

 

Mingyu hates how he takes this course alone, and tries to stop jealousy from eating at his bones as he watches his friends leave for Seungcheol’s bar. Why didn't he choose to follow Soonyoung to Business Administration, or even Jisoo and Jeonghan to Psychology? Everyone else makes university seem easy, but leave it to Mingyu to major in Mathematical Science. Now he’s left to regret his dumb choices, and watch as his social life slowly goes to shit. He hasn’t seen the boys at all since Wednesday, too busy with calculators and partial differentials and R-squared-Pi, and he’s having major withdrawal symptoms. Apart from classes and lunch time that’s spent in the library, Mingyu has been locking himself up in his dorm for the past three days. The only human interaction he has had is with his roommate, and while that does help in keeping his sanity intact, Mingyu has already started to hallucinate, mistaking his graphic calculator for his phone several times too many for it to be normal.

 

Sure, Mingyu may have only been at this for three days thus far, but that’s seventy-two hours, or four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes, or two hundred fifty-nine thousand and two hundred seconds.

 

That’s two hundred and fifty-nine thousand seconds too many.

 

The pings of notification from Mingyu’s phone needle at his fragile concentration, and he can almost taste bitterness on his tongue as his friends very generously keep him updated via periodical snaps of their dumb antics. Fuck calculus, Mingyu’s feeling extremely sorry for himself as he opens a snap from Hansol— it's a video of a tipsy Soonyoung taking body shots off Lee Seokmin from his elective class. Soonyoung’s hands are all over the guy, and Hansol’s maniatic cries are drowned out by the pulsing music in the background. Only God knows that Seungcheol’s bar is just a repurposed club.

 

He's about to send a reply when a message from Seungcheol comes in.

 

_Dude, study instead of replying the boys, do you want to fail??_

 

Mingyu's extra sulky about it when he turns his phone on silent and shoves his phone under the pillow, and he manages to get half an hour of undisturbed study, before his phone is buzzing up again.

 

It takes him a good ten seconds to register that the faint buzzing he hears is not merely a hallucination in his head, but actual vibrations from the incoming call he receives from his good-for-nothing best friend. Seungcheol has his own tests to take on Monday, but his priorities lie with getting drunk on booze and hitting blunts in the back alley. Mingyu is aware of the consequences that are going to come from answering the call— he’s not getting any more studying done tonight.

 

But Seungcheol hasn’t bothered him since Wednesday, an incredible feat that has probably drained him of every last ounce of self-control, so Mingyu thinks it’s fine to answer his calls just this once. He puts the phone on speaker before propping it up against his pencil case, and it takes a few seconds before a voice appears on the other line.

 

“What do you want,” Mingyu says, and he crosses out yet another graph diagram after mislabelling the X and Y axises. The blue pen marks scratched across his paper are so ugly and he kinda wants to cry— why didn’t he use a pencil to work the answer out first? Hasn’t anyone taught him not to plot graphs in pen ink? Mingyu’s several hours in and only two questions down, but he gets a feeling that Seungcheol is up to some kind of dumb fuckery, so that’s probably as much as he’d be able to complete.

 

“What are you up to?”

 

“Don’t pretend you care. What do you want?”

 

The nuances of the homogeneous differential equations on Mingyu’s otherwise blank piece of writing paper suddenly seem even more out of his reach, and he _knows_ Seungcheol is going to ask for yet another idiotic favour that will have him busy for the rest of the night.

 

“Dude, can you like, drop by real quick to take care of someone for me?”

 

Now _that’s_ something new. Mingyu’s ears perk up. Seungcheol has never wanted or needed anyone to be taken care of before, he’s not the confrontational kind.

 

Although Mingyu’s kinda suspecting that his best friend is just looking for an excuse to drag his pretentiously studious ass over to the bar, he’s dumb enough to give in anyway. _Fuck it,_ Mingyu thinks, and he whispers a silent apology to his calculus professor for already failing his test in advance.

 

“Yeah, what’s in it for me?”

 

Mingyu hears Seungcheol snort in response, despite the heavy bass playing in the background. It’s another one of those trashy hip-hop EDM tracks that his best friend listens to on a daily basis.

 

“Nothing, you piece of shit. Can’t you just help your _best friend_ out?” Seungcheol’s voice is interrupted by static, and Mingyu presses his phone closer to hear him. “Anyway, Soonyoung and Hansol are drunk out of their fucking minds, Jisoo went to get soft-boiled eggs from 7-Eleven. Jeonghan followed, so that leaves you.”

 

Mingyu thinks that sounds just about right. He takes pride in being the most responsible alcoholic within their circle of friends, excluding Jisoo because he simply _doesn’t_ drink. Mingyu spends most Friday nights watching his friends down their dark liquor— slamming shots of cheap beer and tequila, or knocking back their more deadly red wine and vodka mix— which they never fail to throw up sometime later into the night.

 

It puts Mingyu off, _disgusts_ him even, to see his friends shitfaced and retching into some skanky sink nestled at the back of Seungcheol’s ghetto-ass bar. He won’t ever understand the allure of putting yourself through such misery. He vaguely remembers Hansol attempting to justify his alcoholic tendencies on that one occasion where he got so intoxicated, he turned himself in to the police for breaking into his own dorm. He hadn't drunk more than a single can of beer, but Hansol is a fucking _lightweight_.

 

(“The best way to keep your spirits up is to like, ingest more spirits, buddy. Get it? Like, spirits as in liquor, y’know? Not spirits as in ghost, ‘cause I’m pretty sure those are inedible.”

 

Mingyu wants to tell his friend to shut the fuck up, partly because he gets the stupid pun, but mostly because Hansol’s laughing so hard at his own joke, his tentacle-like arms are repeatedly slapping Mingyu in the face, fingers stabbing dangerously close to his eye. It’s all shit and giggles until he unceremoniously topples off his chair and drags Soonyoung down with him, leaving the latter in a pool of his own tears. Soonyoung is a crying drunk.

 

Seungcheol eventually sends them home, and just for that single moment, Mingyu thinks his best friend is an angel sent from the heavens.)

 

“Please,” Seungcheol says, and Mingyu can hear hints of desperation in his voice, “I just need you to take care of him real quick.”

 

It sets off alarm bells in Mingyu’s head, to hear his friend sound _almost_ worried over something (or anything, really, because Seungcheol lives vicariously by the motto of _fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything)._ Despite the constant run-ins and collisions with neighbouring gangs, Seungcheol has never hurt another individual once, at least not voluntarily. Even kind, compassionate Jisoo is decently skilled in hand-to-hand combat; he once broke a dude’s nose with a single punch to his face. As much of a macho man Seungcheol claims to be, Mingyu thinks he couldn’t even hurt a fly. To hear Seungcheol instruct him with such a pleading tone, it makes Mingyu wonder— just how much of a little fucker does this bastard have to be, for Seungcheol to want him beaten up so badly?

 

“I’ll be there in ten.”

 

Seungcheol exhales audibly and offers to give Mingyu a free drink in return for his “selfless generosity”, but it’s not like any of them actually pays for their orders anyway. Taking into consideration the sheer amount of times they’ve had risked their asses to commit the petty theft he so desperately craves, at least Seungcheol has the decency to pick up the tab. Only Jeonghan insists on paying, and Mingyu guesses it’s out of courtesy that comes with being the newest addition of their gang.

 

Mingyu takes a moment to file his loose sheets of paper away, before they somehow end up under his roommate Junhui’s bed again. (He once lost a 3000-word write-up in that black hole of unwashed linens and empty food containers, and ended up missing the submission deadline.)

 

Wen Junhui is a party animal, he’s in this university on a fully-paid scholarship, air-flown from China to Korea, yet he's wilder than Mingyu and his group of friends _combined_. Seungcheol finds such a quality worthy of being a rotational member of their gang, so Junhui knows the other guys well, and they all have lunch together on Mondays and Fridays. The only reason why Junhui isn't officially a part of them is because he usually hangs out with the other Chinese students in university (especially a boy by the name of Xu Minghao), where he can practice his mother tongue. Not that it’s an improvement, they’re wild too— Mingyu knows this all too well, especially when Junhui’s friends visit their dorm.

 

They were assigned to be each other’s roommates by random; the college enforces that only those in the same faculties can be roommates, so while Junhui majors in Biological Science, they are both registered under the College of Natural Sciences, and here they are. Mingyu thinks Junhui's a decent roommate and a good friend, a relatively neat and tidy guy that’s always willing to listen.

 

But being roommates also means that Junhui has the honour of witnessing the direct aftermath of all the dumb shit Mingyu repeatedly gets himself into, whether he likes it or not. As reluctant as Junhui may be whenever he has to help clean and wrap a new wound, it’s a mutual agreement that they look out for one another, in the event that either one of them finds themselves in a routinely drunk escapade. Mingyu has saved Junhui’s stupid ass countless of times before, stopping him from slamming his face into the sharp corners of tables and making sure he doesn’t fall out of the window _again_.

 

They both know they’re each no better than the other; a pair of stupid, reckless youths with a lack of common sense and no proper goal or direction in life. But Mingyu likes having Junhui around, and he’s sure the feelings are mutual.

 

Junhui’s home today, curled up in a ball under his blankets as he nurses a migraine, which is really just a killer hangover from partying way too hard the night before. Who even gets drunk on a weekday? It’s a miracle the guy even attended school today, although Mingyu’s pretty sure he just slept through every single class. There’s an open packet of saltine crackers on his comforter, and Junhui shoots Mingyu a dirty look when he steals one.

 

“Man, stop stealing from the sick, you sick fuck. Go get your own crackers. What happened to studying?”

 

“Seungcheol wants some guy taken care of,” Mingyu mumbles, grimacing at how quickly the crackers suck the moisture from his mouth, leaving it uncomfortably dry.

 

Mingyu doesn't have to bother explaining any further, because Junhui _knows_ how to infer the rest. Mingyu just waves a dismissive hand, and grabs his favourite pink hoodie on his way out. There's a brief struggle with the fabric as he tries to put his arm through the correct sleeve, and his hair gets messed up in the process. It drives Mingyu to the end of his patience, but at least the warmth of the fabric is familiar and comforting. He kind of wishes he could leave his best friend to drown while he takes a much needed nap instead, but Seungcheol is his bro, and good bros help each other out.

 

“Oh, cool. Man, y’all gonna get jailed one day with all that gang activity. Make sure to bust the asshole’s nose in or something,” Junhui says, before returning to his semi-comatose position on the bed, knees tucked to his chest and blankets pulled up to his nose.

 

Mingyu appreciates the encouragement, but as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, he’s left to question yet another poor life decision. Instant regret rushes through his veins as the early March chill starts biting relentlessly at the tips of his fingers. It’s usually a twelve-minute leisure walk to Seungcheol’s bar, but today, Mingyu takes no more than five to run his freezing ass into the store. Mingyu doesn't like the cold.

 

The obnoxious neon green and pink lights on the signage outside Seungcheol’s bar are blindingly ugly even from afar, and the front doors are far from sound-proof. Noisy remixes of The Chainsmokers are blasting through the stereos, and Mingyu has to physically push past the makeshift dance floor— Seungcheol said it was _crucial_ to clear an area out for patrons to “mingle with their bodies”— in order to reach the drink bar. Some girl clings onto the sleeve of his hoodie as he makes his way through, and cuddles up his arm. Fuck, he already wants to go home.

 

“Mingyu, you’re here!” Seungcheol’s shout is barely audible over the loud, pulsing music, but Mingyu can see his friend frantically waving his arms in his direction. Soonyoung is passed out over the counter and has saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, Hansol is swinging back and forth on his bar stool and is dangerously close to spilling vodka all over his clothes. They’re both dead drunk, but Seungcheol never was one to manage their alcohol. It’s protocol for him to monitor the intake of his _customers_ _,_ but Hansol and Soonyoung are his _friends,_ so they don’t count. They don’t pay their tab anyway.

 

Jisoo’s back from the convenience store and taking small sips of what looks to be carbonated water, and Mingyu returns the salute he receives from him. Sure enough, there are half-eaten soft-boiled eggs beside him, just as Seungcheol had said.

 

Jeonghan is seated on the countertop, trying to beat Seungcheol’s high score on Alphabear, that stupid word game they've both been addicted to. He’s obviously a little tipsy too, Mingyu can see his screen flashing red whenever he tries to form words without the use of any vowels.

 

There's the snap of fingers as Seungcheol beckons Mingyu over from behind the counter, and he slides a glass into his best friend’s hands. It's a Moscow Mule, and Mingyu can feel the burn in his throat as he takes a little too big a gulp from the glass. The mix tastes awfully bitter and reminiscent of rubbing alcohol— there's probably four parts more vodka than there is ginger beer— and Mingyu is very nearly offended, because even he could make a better drink, and he’s not the one who _owns_ the bar. He briefly contemplates recommending his best friend some bartending classes, but manages to hold his tongue, because Seungcheol is the one with Mingyu’s paycheck.

 

It takes more than two mouthfuls of Jisoo’s sparkling water to drown out the evil lingering on his tongue, and Mingyu's so desperately trying to rinse out the taste, he almost misses what Seungcheol has to say.

 

“He’s in the bathroom, the one wearing a navy button-up. And he's in ripped jeans, I think.” Seungcheol turns to Jisoo for confirmation— he's the only sober and credible one—and continues only after receiving a nod in affirmation. “He’s the one who’s _really_ good looking. Like, hottest-piece-of-ass-in-town kinda good looking.”

 

Mingyu doesn't like to judge, he really doesn't, but he thinks his best friend has to reach a new level of thirsty to be checking out some dude he has beef with. But Seungcheol is Seungcheol, so Mingyu tries to be understanding.

 

“ _I’m_ my own hottest piece of ass in town, so what if I can’t identify him?” Mingyu deadpans in all seriousness, and that somehow sends Hansol into a round of hysterical laughter. On a usual day, Mingyu would be proud and reward himself with a pat on his back for making one of his friends laugh this hard, but Hansol’s starting to sound more like he’s struggling for air and other patrons are turning to look, so Mingyu stops himself. Seungcheol shoots him a withering glare.

 

“You’re ugly as hell. Just, like— be careful with him, alright? Make sure you take care of him well, dude, I'm counting on you. You’re the best one for this job.”

 

The words are unsettling, and Mingyu can feel his chest tightening just the slightest in fear and anticipation. It's probably due to the alcohol starting to buzz in his system, but Mingyu knows for a fact that he's not the best fighter.

 

He once landed his ass in the nurse office with a busted lip and bruised eye after accepting a challenge by some angsty boy in the hallways back in high school. Sure, Mingyu might've had a good fifteen centimetres on him, but who was to say that the tiny senior didn’t know how to throw a punch? The injuries healed in no more than a week, but Mingyu likes to wallow in self-pity and lament about the deep, psychological scar permanently left on his fragile ego.

 

Heck, even _Hansol_ has more street cred than him. If anything, Mingyu should be thankful that Seungcheol doesn't fight, because otherwise he’d be carrying the shameful title of shittiest fighter within their group.

 

Mingyu wants to know why, though, so he asks.

 

“Dude, why don't you just send Jisoo instead, since he’s back? He's better at fighting.”

 

The question falls on deaf ears, as Seungcheol turns to refill Jisoo's water and tends to his order of more prawn crackers. Hansol is of no help, he's busy laughing himself to tears over a melting ice cube that has fallen out of his glass. Mingyu wants to slap his hand over his friend’s useless, worthless cavity of a mouth, but decides against it.

 

His friends have barely left his line of sight when Mingyu hears Seungcheol call out, “His name is Jeon Wonwoo, by the way!”

 

Wonwoo. Wonwoo? The name is vaguely, strangely familiar, and Mingyu thinks he might have heard it in passing conversation. Was he some rival gang leader? Mingyu doesn't bother figuring it out, because why the fuck would he have to know _“Wonwoo”_ on a first-name basis anyway?

 

All he has to do is beat some sense into the kid.

 

There's no one in the bathroom apart from a skinny, pale boy retching his guts into the sink. His arms are braced on either sides of the knock-off porcelain, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and judging by the faint stench of vomit assaulting Mingyu’s nostrils, the guy— no, _Wonwoo,_ must have had a little too much to drink.

 

“Hey,” is all Mingyu says, and then the male is slowly turning around to face him. True to Seungcheol’s words, the man _is_ pretty fucking handsome, and Mingyu brain short-circuits right then and there. Despite the vacant expression on his face, Wonwoo has been blessed by the gods of physical beauty, with cheekbones higher than the heavens themselves and a jawline that could cut glass. His mono-lidded eyes have been accentuated with thick liner, smudged with eyeshadow from the night, and Mingyu swears there’s a hint of pink gloss on the male’s full lips. Mingyu isn’t fucking looking.

 

Not that he’ll ever admit to finding Wonwoo attractive though, because Mingyu thinks his face is one of the handsomest ones out there, and he's not going to let himself feel inferior to some drunk pretty boy throwing up unattractively all over himself.

 

The male quirks an eyebrow, and for some strange, unexplainable reason, Mingyu takes it as a challenge. Was the guy really challenging Mingyu’s authority and by extension, his dignity? Probably not. Are Mingyu’s decision-making skills impaired by the vodka buzzing in his system? Sure, definitely. His nerves are shot, and rational-thinking isn’t really on his to-do list right now.

 

The soft, screaming voice of his consciousness doesn't stop Mingyu from gritting his teeth and throwing a hard punch forward, and he nearly winces at the pain blooming in his fist as it collides with the male’s jaw. Wonwoo’s head is easily knocked back, an endless string of vulgarities falling from his lips as he places a hand on the sink to steady himself. Somehow, even when bent over the counter with his face contorting in obvious pain, Wonwoo _still_ looks good.

 

“What the _fuck_ —”

 

 _Damn,_ even his voice sounds hot, with a deep timbre that immediately sends tingles crawling up Mingyu’s spine. It’s husky and almost has a metallic quality to it, reminding Mingyu of that one time he had a killer sore throat after chain-smoking with Soonyoung on the campus roof. Mingyu briefly wonders if this is the person he's been reduced to ever since Seungcheol put together his gang— a thirsty, desperate asshole who beats up strangers, and then proceeds to check them the fuck out once they’re down for the count. He wonders where his humanity and compassion has gone, and decides that it dissipated into thin air the moment he accepted Seungcheol’s friends as his own.

 

Wonwoo has apparently regained enough composure to shove Mingyu roughly by the shoulders, and the student stumbles back, knocking his hip against the counter. Steeling himself to deliver another blow, Mingyu uses all his willpower to ignore the small voice in his head that's making him rethink just what his motivations were for hitting the other male in the first place. _You didn't even find out why you're hitting him,_ he thinks, and he’s beginning to doubt himself when Jisoo busts into the bathroom, arms flailing and legs a-kicking.

 

“Dude, Seungcheol told me to ask what's taking you so long—” There's a sudden pause to Jisoo’s sentence, followed by a scream that puts even Hansol to shame.

 

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing to Wonwoo? Mingyu, _stop!”_

 

Jisoo wrenches Mingyu’s arms away, and the latter winces when nails dig sharply into his flesh. Things pass in a blur when Jisoo pushes him aside and rushes over to check on Wonwoo, fingers gently prodding at his jaw. There's a bruise already forming, a deep, angry purple that contrasts sharply against Wonwoo’s pale, previously unblemished complexion.

 

Mingyu barely has time to react before Wonwoo’s lunging forward, eyes glossed over with full intent to hurt. The punch misses thanks to Jisoo’s quick reflexes, saving him from what would be a nasty uppercut, and Mingyu counts his blessings.

 

“Let me _go,_ Jisoo—”

 

Wait, _what?_ Wonwoo _knows_ Jisoo’s name, and Mingyu’s slowly beginning to think that this is no stranger. He stands frozen in his place, cogworks turning in his head as he tries to make sense of the situation. Wonwoo is putting up a struggle against Jisoo’s grip, and relents only when blood starts pooling at the corners of his lips.

 

Jisoo’s eyes widen so much Mingyu fears they'll pop right out of their sockets, and he looks like he's two seconds from fainting on the cold bathroom tiles when he notices that Wonwoo’s bleeding from his mouth. Mingyu watches dumbly as his friend fleets around the room to find something to staunch its flow, movements nothing unlike a panicking bumblebee whose precious honey has been stolen, and returns after a moment with a big roll of toilet paper.

 

Wonwoo spits out a mouthful of blood into the sink, a splash of deep scarlet against stained ceramic. Mingyu realises with growing dread that he has split the inside of Wonwoo’s cheek open against his teeth.

 

The toilet paper that Jisoo brings to Wonwoo's mouth is soaked through in mere seconds, and Jisoo’s back to screaming his head off when the crimson liquid floods the thin material and spills onto his fingertips.

 

“You _ruined_ him— what! were! you! thinking?! Seungcheol is going to kill you!”

 

“But _Seungcheol_ told me to take care of him!” Mingyu tries to defend himself, but his mouth is dry and his throat is closing up, so his words come out weaker than intended. He's so fucking _confused._

 

Wonwoo’s head snaps up at the mention of Seungcheol, and it’s obvious that he's familiar with the name too. Just who the hell is Jeon Wonwoo? The atmosphere is so tense it’s suffocating, and Mingyu wants to vomit. There must’ve been a mistake, and he’s kinda getting the feeling that the bright red marks he has left on Wonwoo’s jaw wasn’t exactly called for.

 

To say Mingyu’s aim is absolute shit is definitely an understatement, and more often than not, he misses his target by a considerable length. Seungcheol estimates that only two out of ten of Mingyu’s blows land. He likes to blame it on parallax error, but self-proclaimed physics genius, Hansol, insists that visual impairment or sheer stupidity is a more probable reason behind his wide margin-of-error.

 

Whatever he lacks in aiming though, Mingyu makes up for it double in strength. This just happens to be one of those two times out of ten that he manages to hit his target.

 

Wonwoo’s obviously hurt, and Jisoo’s delirious.

 

“He didn't ask you to punch Wonwoo!”

 

There's a sinking feeling in the pits of his stomach, and Mingyu’s _finally_ understanding that he has seriously fucked up some way or another.

 

“Mingyu, he’s Seungcheol’s _cousin!"_

 

Mingyu feels his heart drop. He thinks there’s a possibility that Jisoo’s pulling some kind of sick joke on him, but judging by how devastated his friend looks, Mingyu doesn’t count on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it has been too long (over a year and a half) since I last posted anything, and I'm back to present to you my newest baby— _take a shot (at my heart)_. this has been in the making since june 2017, and I'm so excited to be finally able to share it! this will be my very first chaptered story aka commitment
> 
> this time, I'm planning on finishing this work, even if it's the last thing I do. as always, beta-ed by the ever so loyal chorusofthesong 
> 
> are there any old readers still around, please come say hi! 
> 
> please do leave comments, I love reading through all of them! thank you for reading, and have a blessed day ♡


	2. Chapter 2

Seungcheol is peeling a lemon when they bring a battered Wonwoo round the counter, and he promptly loses it. He sends lemon juice flying all over the place as he rushes over to his cousin, and Hansol takes the brunt of it. There's a withering scream as Hansol frantically searches for something to wipe the acidic juice from his eyes with, and Mingyu feels the intensity of his headache multiplying tenfold when his friend starts scrubbing his face with Seungcheol’s dirty washcloth.

 

No one gives a fuck about Hansol amid his screams of _man down!_ as they crowd around Wonwoo instead.

 

Jeonghan constructs a makeshift ice pack out of a plastic bag and some industrial tape, and fills it up with ice cubes from the bar’s freezer. It's pressed to Wonwoo’s cheek, and he _hisses_ at the sharp pain upon contact.

 

“What happened? Mingyu, I told you to take care of him!” Seungcheol looks as though his self-control is put to the ultimate test— the lemon is still grasped tightly between his fingers, and it’s kinda like he’s resisting the urge to fling the damn citrus fruit at Mingyu’s head with maximum strength.

 

“I did,” Mingyu says, exasperated. Jesus, why couldn’t he had just been a good student for once, stayed home and studied instead? Mingyu has probably earned himself a count of physical assault and grievous bodily harm.

 

“My poor boy!” Seungcheol has Wonwoo’s face cupped in his hands, and he’s yelling at the top of his lungs. “School starts on Monday, _god_ _,_ everyone’s gonna think you got bullied on your first day!”

 

“Which asshole hit you?” Seungcheol says, and if looks could kill, Mingyu would probably be already six feet under considering just how hard Wonwoo is glaring at him. It's terribly incriminating, and as Seungcheol starts following his cousin’s line of sight, Mingyu makes a silent prayer for a quick, painless death at the hands of his best friend.

 

Their eyes meet and everything goes silent for a moment— Seungcheol looks like his mind is going into overdrive as he tries to connect the dots— and Mingyu sees how the surprise in Seungcheol’s eyes morphs into disappointment.

 

“Mingyu, _dude,_ that's not cool.”

 

“Wasn’t trying to be,” Mingyu snaps, “I didn’t know he was your cousin, what the fuck— You told me to take care of him!”

 

Seungcheol lets out a deep sigh, and presses his index and thumb to his temples. “I did, and I meant it literally! He’s drunk. I needed someone to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't die while I served customers.”

 

“But,” Mingyu barely has the ability to conjure up a proper, coherent sentence, “you told me to be careful with him? Weren’t you telling me… to, like, watch out?”

 

There's a snort of laughter from Wonwoo, and Mingyu doesn't miss the way the smaller male rolls his eyes in disbelief.

 

Seungcheol looks like he's about to cry.

 

“That's because my auntie would fucking _kill_ me if anything happened to Wonwoo!” he says, delirious with worry as he shakes Mingyu roughly by the shoulders, and Mingyu thinks he must've lost some brain cells from the force— that is, if he had any to begin with.

 

It's no secret that Mingyu’s guilty of doing some really dumb shit. His capability and capacity for stupidity is remarkable. Even _Hansol_ calls him an idiot, and as they always say, it takes one to recognise another.

 

But despite all the stupid things he’s done in his short lifetime of twenty-one years, Mingyu had never imagined that it was humanly possible to reach this level of idiocy. It's a wonder he even managed to pass his university entrance exam, having being equipped with such dire lack of intelligence.

 

Wonwoo’s still glaring, having sobered up from the fist fight, and he looks most understandably upset. His friends all share the same look of second-hand embarrassment, even drunk Hansol manages to direct a mean side-eye in Mingyu’s general direction from his seat by the counter. It has Mingyu feeling like shit, like he's the last bit of Nutella at the bottom of a jar— too much effort for too little rewards. His friend don't even  _like_ Nutella, and Mingyu isn't sure of Wonwoo's preferences in chocolate spread.

 

There are customers waiting to be served, and Seungcheol doesn't have a choice when he leaves to take the order of a lady standing by the bar. It's not that she's becoming impatient from the lack of service, but she’s trying to flirt the fuck out of Hansol who's conveniently seated there, so it's up to Seungcheol to save him. Soonyoung is called in as backup after the girl starts manhandling Hansol towards the dance floor, the boy giggling in giddy delirium as she hangs off his arm.

 

They decide to take Wonwoo to the back room, where Seungcheol keeps his stockpile of beanbags and cushion seats, and the boy is forced onto one of the chairs. Jeonghan leaves to put together another ice pack (the ice in his first one has melted, and there's no way of replacing it after he thoughtlessly taped the plastic bag shut), and Jisoo goes to get more toilet paper.

 

Mingyu is left alone with Wonwoo, and he thinks his friends must be stupid for leaving him with the poor boy he made into an involuntary punching bag just moments ago. There's a dark stain on Wonwoo’s shirt, and whilst it's hard to identify against the navy fabric, Mingyu knows it's blood.

 

Guilt sits heavily on his chest, leaving him breathless, and he’s starting to feel lightheaded. Every breath Mingyu takes only seems to cuts deeper, and he feels like an awful person.

 

The bleeding has stopped considerably, and Jisoo hurriedly returns with his arms wrapped in copious amounts of toilet paper and a damp cloth for Wonwoo to clean up with.

 

“Don't just stand there, Mingyu,” Jisoo says irritably, and that’s how Mingyu lands the impossible task of looking for fresh clothing for Wonwoo to change into.

 

That doesn't make any sense, because this bar is fucking dank, and the only clean clothes Mingyu could probably find would be the ones on his own body. He squeezes past a couple getting handsy along poorly lit corridors, and braves the crowd of patrons to ask Seungcheol if he has any spare clothes.

 

“Hansol threw up on the last of mine.”

 

“Guilty as charged,” Hansol shouts from his position on the dance floor, a hand shooting up in the air. Shameless piece of shit doesn't even look sorry.

 

 _Fuck it,_ Mingyu thinks, and he peels off his hoodie as he makes his way back to Wonwoo. The back room doesn't get much warmth from the shitty heating system, and the thin shirt Mingyu's left in offers him no protection against cold temperatures.

 

Mingyu doubts he'd get his hoodie back, and he's a little bummed because it's his favourite one, but he thinks he owes Wonwoo at least this much for unjustly punching him in the face.

 

Wonwoo looks up as Mingyu enters the room, and Mingyu can clearly see the scowl that greets him, even in the poor lighting. It's kinda feels like entering a lion’s enclosure during feeding time, except that Mingyu’s not the friendly zookeeper or anything, but rather the slab of meat being offered to the hungry feline. Wonwoo even has a pair of sharp, cat-like eyes to match.

 

He doesn’t know why he’s so terrified, Wonwoo physically can't eat him up alive, but maybe it’s because the boy is glaring with such intensity, Mingyu can feel his metaphorical teeth metaphorically eating away at his insides. Wonwoo is much more petite than he is, especially since he’s mostly sunken into Seungcheol’s pretty, chevroned bean bag, and even so, Mingyu is scared shitless. _Kim Mingyu, just pass him the damn hoodie, you fucking coward._ For someone with the balls to punch a stranger on no prior basis other than a careless misinterpretation of words, Mingyu is such a wimp.

 

Wonwoo doesn’t move, doesn’t even bat a single eyelash when the hoodie is offered to him, and the impassive look on his face is fixed in stone. The atmosphere is excruciatingly tense, yet Mingyu doesn’t waver. Not until Wonwoo starts to speak.

 

“Thanks, but keep it,” Wonwoo drawls, and it's the first time Mingyu sees an inkling of a smile on his face, albeit an unpleasant one. The corners of his lips are upturned— it's three quarters arrogant and the last sarcastic— and Wonwoo tilts his head away from the hoodie.

 

“That's the ugliest thing I've seen, but I guess that’s why it suits you.”

 

Jisoo sounds like a honking goose from how hard he's trying to swallow his laughter, but at least he’s polite enough to try. Now, that’s a real friend. The comment catches Mingyu off guard, and he doesn't know what he has done wrong to deserve such an insult. He doesn't remember asking Wonwoo his damn opinion on his sense of fashion.

 

“I'm trying to help,” Mingyu says dryly, and his patience is wearing thin.

 

“You wouldn't need to, if you hadn't caused this mess in the first place.”

 

To hell with apologies, Mingyu suddenly feels significantly less sorry for punching Jeon Wonwoo in the face.

 

“You know what, I take back my apology.”

 

“That wasn’t one.”

 

Mingyu has the urge to throw another punch, but he tells himself it’s because Wonwoo’s crappy attitude is certainly deserving of one, not because the things the boy says are annoyingly accurate.

 

“Stop arguing with him, Mingyu.” Jisoo chides, and Mingyu wants to yell _who’s damn side are you on_ _,_ but Wonwoo’s giving him a blink that somehow manages to come off as _smug_ and Mingyu mentally punches him again.

 

Seungcheol returns with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in another, which he shoves into Mingyu’s grasp. “We’re closing early,” he says, “go clean the mess outside.”

 

Seungcheol sounds exhausted, and Mingyu hasn’t heard his best friend speaking in such a resigned, despondent tone ever since he broke up with his first love in high school. Not that Mingyu punching his cousin is anywhere near as serious, or life-changing, or earth-shattering as Seungcheol losing a potential wife, but... Yeah, shit went down that day.

 

Mingyu knows this is _still_ kinda serious, his emotional intelligence grants him that much. So he obediently does what he’s told— doing it right this time, because it really takes an idiot to fuck up sweeping, of all things— and leaves the back room to pack up for closing.

 

Soonyoung and Hansol are already helping to wipe down tables, both of them having already been shaken out of their drunken stupor. Hansol’s still a little tipsy though, and he repeatedly wipes over spots he already cleaned. It’s not even five minutes before they’re both called aside by Seungcheol, so Mingyu just continues cleaning up in silence. There’s a lot of shuffling and murmuring coming from the back room, before there’s a shock of freezing air rushing into the bar as Soonyoung rushes out of the front door, clad in nothing but a flimsy short-sleeved shirt. Jeonghan has his arms wrapped tightly around him to shield him from the bitter cold.

 

They both leave quickly, silhouettes disappearing into the night. Hansol emerges from the back room with Wonwoo in tow, and Mingyu immediately notices how his shirt has morphed into Soonyoung’s dance crew hoodie, the one with ‘HOSHI’ embroidered in block letters on the back. It’s a well-known fact that Soonyoung protects that jacket with his life— he only handwashes his hoodie in cold water, and keeps it in a garment bag to discourage anyone trying to get their dirty fingerprints on it.

 

It doesn’t sit well with Mingyu, how an undeserving brat like Wonwoo has been bestowed the honour of wearing Soonyoung’s prized hoodie, _especially_ with how the guy had shut him down just moments earlier.

 

Hansol has to help Wonwoo on the way out, the latter still unstable even on two feet. It’s a little dumb to be leaving an injured person in Hansol’s care, Mingyu thinks, especially when there’s a shitload of alcohol floating around in his system. But, Mingyu’s not in any position to pass judgement, having just proven that he shouldn’t be trusted to take care of anyone either.

 

Hushed voices and heavy footsteps make their way around the corner, and Jisoo gives Seungcheol a reassuring pat on the back.

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get Wonwoo back home safe.” Jisoo says, before he’s out the door, too, the hood of his coat pulled over his head. When the door swings to a shut, Mingyu's left alone with a very disappointed best friend.

 

“Give me the keys,” Mingyu mumbles, and he holds out his hand. “I’ll lock up and pass them back to you tomorrow.”

 

Seungcheol gives him a high-five instead, and _oh shit, he has probably lost his mind_. The anger must have gotten to his head.

 

“Nah, man. I’ll follow you back to yours. I probably owe you an explanation.”

 

Mingyu doesn’t think an explanation will help solve anything at his point, but he has done more than enough damage tonight, so he simply agrees.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

It shall forever be a mystery, how Mingyu didn’t instinctively associate the name _Wonwoo_ with _Seungcheol’s cousin_. His useless brain remembers only now, an hour too late, that Seungcheol has unmistakably spoken of a Wonwoo on separate occasions.

 

_(Mingyu is left to mind his own business yet again, because Seungcheol “has an important appointment” with some “cousin living overseas” to play some kind of first-player shooter game on PlayStation._

 

_Seungcheol kicks his feet into the air and shouts so loudly into his headset, Mingyu feels a little sorry for whichever cousin of his is on the receiving end. Or maybe not, because the guy kinda deserves it for wanting to game with Seungcheol in the first place._

 

_“Jeon Wonwoo, stop being so useless, snipe the fucker!”_

 

_Mingyu promptly tunes the screaming out, a skill he has progressively mastered over time. He doesn’t understand the concept behind gaming, and probably never will. Seungcheol and Hansol both call him uncultured, but Mingyu begs to differ, because he’s almost a hundred percent sure his friends have lost thousands of brain cells from leaning too closely to the screen._

 

 _“Wonwoo, behind me— Dude, you just let me die! What kinda terrible Hanzo are you_ — _”)_

 

Seungcheol even reminds Mingyu of a conversation they had a month earlier, the one where Seungcheol wouldn’t shut up about how his cousin living in America had miraculously been selected to be an exchange student at their college. Mingyu didn’t even know Seungcheol had a cousin living in America. Come to think of it, Mingyu remembers casually brushing his best friend’s words under the rug, too busy watching pirated videos on Hansol’s laptop.

 

It all makes sense now, why the name sounded so familiar when Seungcheol first mentioned it back in the bar.

 

“He arrived Wednesday night, and he’s gonna be here on exchange for the spring semester. All the way till August. He hasn’t started classes yet though, he has just been staying in the dorm and getting rid of his jet lag.” Seungcheol says thoughtfully, and there’s a semblance of a frown on his face. “Now that I'm thinking about it, man, that shit’s serious... He was awake until six in the morning today, and only woke up this evening. Then he got punched.”

 

Mingyu doesn’t know what to do with that information. A normal person would probably feel sorry, or maybe, sorrier, but Mingyu is finding it real hard to locate his moral compass. He lost it the moment Wonwoo decided to be an asshole about the whole situation.

 

“The rest of the boys have met him. You were busy with calculus, so like, I was gonna introduce him to you during the weekend or something. He stays with Hansol and I, ‘cause he doesn’t like his assigned roommate.”

 

Junhui nods his head in agreement.

 

“He told me his roommate was into feet. Apparently, the dude kept asking what his shoe size was.” Junhui’s eyes widen visibly as the words set in. “Man, what if he starts sniffing Wonwoo’s socks? Wait— what if he starts sniffing Wonwoo’s _feet?”_

 

“What, even _you_ have met Wonwoo?” Mingyu asks incredulously, and his roommate just looks at him with a _duh_ expression.

 

“Hansol invited me over to their place on Wednesday.” Junhui replies nonchalantly, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

 

“And you didn’t bother to tell me that Seungcheol has a cousin studying here for the next five months?”

 

Junhui simply shrugs his shoulders and falls back onto the pillows.

 

They’re all cramped on Mingyu’s bed— Mingyu because he’s the rightful owner, Seungcheol because he’s trying to sort things out with Mingyu, and Junhui simply because he’s a busybody. There’s the creaking of springs beneath them, and they’re probably putting the bed’s structural integrity to the ultimate test by piling on top of it, but nobody really cares.

 

Mingyu keeps sneezing two times in a row (right at his friends’ faces), and he wants to blame it on Mother Nature for the persistent cold weather. But superstition says two sneezes and someone’s speaking ill of you, and Mingyu can’t help but think that maybe the rest of the boys back in Seungcheol and Hansol’s dorm are just busy trash talking him.

 

Junhui hands him a tissue from the bedside table. “Unpopular opinion, but you should go apologise to Wonwoo.”

 

“Wow, Jun, thank you for the insight. That’s really, _really_ helpful,” Mingyu deadpans, and he wipes his nose with the tissue before balling it up and shooting for the waste basket.

 

His shot misses miserably, and everyone watches as the tissue ball lands an arm’s length away from the bin.

 

“Hah. No need to be rude about it, man. I’m just trying to help.”

 

“Did you not hear me when I said that Wonwoo’s like a cat? You try to treat him nicely, yet he hates you and the rest of the world and wants to scratch your eyes out.”

 

“Aw, man, Wonwoo doesn’t hate the rest of the world.” Seungcheol interrupts Mingyu with a snort, “He loves me. He only hates you because you punched him for no reason.”

 

“That’s because you were being an ineloquent—”

 

“Anyway,” Seungcheol hops off of the bed, and starts to gather his belongings. “Wonwoo’s a real nice guy, so don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll forgive you soon enough. I gotta go, Jeonghan texted that I should bring him to the emergency room.”

 

“To the emergency room,” Mingyu repeats, and the severity of the situation doesn’t really sink in even after the door clicks shut behind Seungcheol. He only manages to snap out of his daze when Junhui stretches his limbs out and knees him right in the stomach.

 

Mingyu recoils in pain, and there’s a loud shriek as Junhui is unceremoniously rolled off the bed, fingers scrambling at the blankets in a futile attempt to anchor himself down.

 

“Stop it, Junhui, I’m not in the mood for your games.”

 

But Junhui simply bounces back up like a roly poly, and rests his chin on the edge of Mingyu’s bed.

 

“Real talk though, is it just me who thinks the dude’s pretty damn attractive? I only saw him once, but damn, I want him to use my face as a trampoline. You think Seungcheol will kill me for finding his cousin hot?”

 

 _Hell yeah, he’s handsome._ But Mingyu doesn’t plan on letting anyone know that Wonwoo’s face ticks every box off of his ideal type checklist, so he pretends to not hear the question.

 

Calculus assignments sit forgotten on the table, and Mingyu wishes he had chosen to stay behind in the comfort and safety of his own dorm, instead of attending to Seungcheol’s call for help. Maybe then he would have a decent chance at passing calculus, and more importantly, maybe then nobody wouldn’t have gotten hurt. It’s one thing to have a shitty day due to shitty personal decisions, and it’s another to completely ruin everyone else’s day.

 

Mingyu can’t find the energy to leave his bed after that. He stays wrapped up in his blankets even when Junhui brings him an ice pack for his bruised knuckles, and tries to coax him out of bed for a good five minutes. It’s times like this that Mingyu is grateful for a roommate and friend like him, he really is, but his heart is too heavy and his mind is too cloudy, and ignoring Junhui seems like the easiest way out, so he does exactly that.

 

Junhui gives up soon after, and the lights are switched off. Mingyu can hear Junhui padding over to his own bed, his room slippers dragging over the carpeted floor. There’s the sound of rummaging pillows and fabric, and Mingyu feels his eyelids get heavier.

 

“You’re gonna be seeing Wonwoo lot, so don’t bother trying to avoid him.” Junhui says quietly. There’s no response from Mingyu, but Junhui must know he’s listening, because he continues. “Go and befriend him, even if he doesn’t seem interested. Maybe he’s not as bad as you think.”

 

“Whose friend are you, Wonwoo’s or mine?”

 

Junhui remains unfazed by the daggers Mingyu is glaring into his soul, or maybe it’s because the room is dark and nobody can see shit. “I’m a neutral party. And Mr. Neutral Party says, go and befriend him. Mr. Guilty Party should just shut up and listen.”

 

Screw Junhui. Mingyu is done indulging in conversation with him, and he rolls over to face his back towards the most useless of roommates to have existed on this planet. He’s left alone with his thoughts as Junhui’s even breathing fills the room, and it’s a while before he drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates will be prompt only for the starting chapters, but will be as often as possible
> 
> as always, _thank you_ for reading. have a great week ahead! ♡
> 
> please leave me some comments to let me know how you find this story so far!


	3. Chapter 3

It's hard to get used to the new presence.

 

Considering how often Mingyu hangs out in Seungcheol and Hansol’s room on the weekends, it’s impossible to miss the new addition to the household. But in typical Mingyu fashion, he forgets about the newcomer by Saturday morning, so when Wonwoo answers the door for the first time— hair messy from sleep and dressed down in his pyjamas— Mingyu very nearly screams.

 

Since then, Mingyu has lost count of just how many times over the weekends alone, that he's rounded a corner in Seungcheol and Hansol’s dorm, only to come face to face with a less than impressed Jeon Wonwoo. Not that Mingyu is complaining about literally _seeing_ him— Wonwoo is very easy on the eyes, even barefaced and in a set of sweats— but he's simply not used to the cold, intimidating aura that Wonwoo commands so easily.

 

They haven’t had a proper conversation with each other, but Mingyu swears Wonwoo is trying to communicate some kind of intense hate message through the constant glares he’s getting. Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t as sharp now that he’s without his eyeliner, but his gaze is still as deep and piercing, and Mingyu feels like he’s being examined under magnifying lens.

 

Junhui’s words resonate in his mind, _go and befriend him,_ but to say Mingyu’s intimidated would be a severe understatement. His ego has not yet healed from Wonwoo single-handedly ripping it to shreds with his snarky one-liners.

 

Wonwoo’s personality, Mingyu quickly learns, is a far stretch from Seungcheol and Hansol’s loud and bubbly attitudes, so overly enthusiastic that anyone unfamiliar would peg them as a pair of college druggies high on cheap, dubious hallucinogens.

 

Ever since Wonwoo has taken up temporary residence in the Seungcheol-Hansol household, Seungcheol has converted a corner of his room into his cousin’s living space. It's nothing more than several stacked mattresses by the foot of Seungcheol’s own bed, weighed down by copious amounts of pillows and blankets, but it’s comfortable enough.

 

It infuriates Mingyu, to have lost his welcome to his best friend’s dorm. It’s not that Seungcheol doesn’t want him around when Wonwoo’s home, but rather, Mingyu _feels_ like he shouldn’t be around. He doesn’t feel comfortable lounging on Seungcheol’s bed anymore, not when Wonwoo’s personal space is an arm’s length away. He even fears to sit on the couch when Wonwoo’s seated on the other end, hugging his knees to his chest.

 

Mingyu also learns that Wonwoo has access to every part of the dorm, even to that one sacred cupboard in the pantry that Hansol guards with his life. It’s stocked with imported candy and a shitload of assorted snacks, and they make up most of Hansol’s daily calorie intake. It cost Seungcheol a lifetime’s supply of almond Pepero to bribe his roommate into getting rid of the motion detector he'd installed onto the cupboard’s door, after that one time it caused a false alarm at 3 AM. They'd both been asleep in bed, and no one was in the vicinity of the cupboard. It freaks Seungcheol out till this day, and he’s convinced the pantry is haunted, so he keeps all his food in his room. Mingyu once found a loaf of bread in the sock drawer, but that's beside the point.

 

Wonwoo hasn't been here for long, yet he's assimilated so seamlessly into the surroundings, it's as if a long-lost centerpiece of a puzzle has been returned to its rightful position— the picture still holds together just fine without it, but the final piece _completes_ it.

 

Mingyu doesn’t know how it’s possible for Wonwoo to grow _this_ close to his friends within the span of a few days. Hansol is practically Wonwoo’s new best friend for life, and Soonyoung called him a “brother from another mother” when the whole gang was over for a pizza dinner. He is a familiar face on Jisoo’s and Jeonghan’s shared Instagram account— they even have a video filmed from their bedroom window of Wonwoo looking cluelessly for directions to the convenience store next to the dormitories— not unlike a cute little pet.

 

The few days Mingyu missed out on spending with Wonwoo feels more like a lifetime, and by relation, Mingyu has missed out on the opportunity to be his friend. (Although their scuffle in the bar’s bathroom is probably the reason why any probability of a friendship is down to a zero.) Heck, even _Junhui_ met Wonwoo before he did, and he’s not even a full-time member of their gang.

 

Sure, his friends are all sociable enough to befriend an inanimate block of wood, but Mingyu himself is far from shy. He's not awkward, and he has never had any problems charming his way into every social circle. Conversation flows easily with Mingyu, sentences rolling off his tongue with practiced ease, and so it's mildly distressing that Mingyu finds himself at a loss for words when it comes to Jeon Wonwoo. He briefly wonders if the problem lies within Wonwoo instead, but his friend all seem to take a genuine liking to the guy, which must mean _something—_ it’s obvious that they are not giving Wonwoo a free pass simply because he’s Seungcheol’s cousin.

 

Mingyu knows that he has to dig a little deeper to uncover Wonwoo’s other side. Or, Mingyu frowns, perhaps Wonwoo is just bitter towards him?

 

To say that he isn't salty would be a lie. He somehow feels like an outsider amongst his group of friends, an alien who speaks in a different language and hears in a different frequency. It’s not hard to tell from the stares that Wonwoo doesn't want him around, and Mingyu is sure as hell that whatever runs through his mind is resentment. It wouldn't be a surprise if Wonwoo has mentally murdered him multiple times by now, anyway.

 

It's kinda justified though, since Mingyu _did_ punch him in the face for no damn reason, and considering how none of the verbal exchange they've had so far has offered anything insightful— nothing more than snippy remarks aimed at each other— they don't seem likely to be be close friends any time soon.

 

Mingyu hasn’t known the boy for more than forty-eight hours, yet he’s is already feeling threatened and forced to fall back, like a crab whose hidey hole is gradually filling with sand, (the sand being the darkness Jeon Wonwoo exudes), so he keep his defences up. Because Wonwoo's here to stay, for a good six months at least, and Mingyu has to learn how to suck it up.

 

───※ ·❆· ※───

 

Mingyu learns on Sunday night that Wonwoo would be sharing one too many classes with him, through a pleading text from Seungcheol.

 

_It ain’t my fault he also majors in mathematical science back in America??_

 

_I know you got beef but pls take care of him_

 

_I promised auntie and she's counting on me man_

 

_Mingyu pls_

 

There's desperation in his best friend’s texts, and Mingyu feels mildly sorry. Hansol had blown up Mingyu’s phone notifications just minutes earlier, informing him that Seungcheol’s aunt was requesting to video call her son, and that Seungcheol almost killed himself in a rush to conceal the blatantly obvious bandages on her precious Wonwoo’s jaw.

 

Forcibly wrestling a hoodie over his cousin’s head, Seungcheol then tugged on the strings so hard, Wonwoo looked trapped in a fucking condom. The only thing anyone could really see was Wonwoo’s nose, and it looked pretty damn ridiculous. (Hansol sends a photograph of Wonwoo’s clothes to the chat room, which Mingyu scrolls past with petty envy at the soft shade of lilac— how is that much different from the baby pink hoodie he’d so violently rejected from Mingyu?) The lights in the dorm were dimmed, and Jisoo was forcibly kidnapped from his dorm to sit through the call and create a distraction, to _give auntie another handsome face to admire_.

 

Bless the crappy dorm WiFi signal, because Mingyu is sure the low resolution of the video call helped in masking the bandages from sight. Wonwoo’s mother was probably viewing them in no more than five pixels.

 

Apart from a comment from Wonwoo’s younger brother on how stupid he looked, and another from his mother on how lovely Jisoo was, the Jeons didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. They definitely didn't notice the plasters and patches peeking out from underneath the hood.

 

Other than having to put up with Wonwoo’s copious amounts of sass, Mingyu is still more than grateful to him for not blowing their cover. Poor boy took a unjustifiable blow to his face and was then dressed to look like an idiot in front of his own family, just to save his cousin’s ass.

 

Mingyu wonders just how protective Wonwoo’s mother must be for Seungcheol to be so terrified of her, but he has a good idea. A cover-up wouldn't have even been necessary if Mingyu hadn't thrown the punch in the first place, so he kinda owes everyone one. The least he could do is attempt to get along with the guy, and help him get acquainted with the new environment.

 

Mingyu goes to sleep that night with a silent promise to himself; they may have gotten off to a bad start, but he is going to give friendship with Wonwoo a try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little filler chapter for ya
> 
> the main chapter is all ready to go and will be up _tonight_ so make sure to check back to read it!
> 
> see you here in a few hours? (❁´◡`❁)


	4. Chapter 4

The oak tree right at the back of the school campus is one that has belonged to their little ragtag group for as long as Mingyu can remember. It’s a lovely little spot, and if you’re lucky enough, you may even chance upon Junhui (skipping class and) laying in the sun, or even Hansol occasionally earthworm-hunting. It all started when Seungcheol spotted a family of woodpeckers on its branches, and was inspired to be “in tune with nature”. Mingyu foresees him to be the type of idiot to believe in _breatherism,_ and attempt to absorb solar power to thrive solely under the energy of the universe.

 

With most of them in separate faculties, and all of them (except Jisoo and Jeonghan) in separate majors, they had come to a collective agreement that their meeting point should involve everyone having to walk the same distance, just to be fair. The shortlisting process had everyone counting their steps for _days_ _,_ to determine the exact spot in campus that would be favourable for everyone. They gave up a week later and just decided on the oak tree behind the entire school, under the assumption that everyone has to walk far enough to reach it. That’s fair, kinda.

 

It’s no secret that Soonyoung has it easiest though, his faculty is no more than a five minutes walk away. Everyone else has no choice but to complete a walkathon everyday.

 

As embarrassing as it may seem though, Mingyu knows that they all have some kind of sentimental attachment to the damn tree. Heck, Jeonghan wants the tree insured and Soonyoung even has plans to manually build a treehouse in it before they graduate.

 

The fresh air is always a welcome change after hours in an air-conditioned room reeking of too much perfume, cologne and testosterone. The turf is soft, and Mingyu would much rather spend his time napped the fuck out on the grass than hunched over a desk with inadequate leg space. They eat in the cafeteria during winter though, because no one is stupid enough to freeze their asses off in the snow.

 

But with the constant annoying chatter of students in the main cafeteria, and the passing holler of some dumb jock trying to play up his masculinity, Mingyu is reminded yet again why lunches are better outside.

 

The group's average height stands at one hundred and seventy-nine— Mingyu’s hundred and eighty-six is still not enough to round the number up any higher— so there is barely enough legroom for them underneath the table.

 

The cafeteria has round tables, which Mingyu thinks is a stupid design concept. It's all messy limbs and tangled legs under the table. Seungcheol also has the habit of bouncing his knee, and it's far from pleasant when he sends an accidental kick to someone’s shin. Nobody knows the exact reason why Seungcheol kicks _so_ hard, the force reminiscent of taking a soccer ball to the face, give or take a few newtons.

 

It’s been months since they’ve been able to eat outside, and today’s no different. Not that Mingyu’s complaining, but he really kinda is, because the main cafeteria is in the school of social sciences, a few blocks away from his department of mathematics, and the walk is excruciatingly cold. He feels like a walking ice pop in the winter, the kind that comes with twin sticks that you’re supposed to break apart to share. Mingyu’s tolerance for low temperatures worsens the lower they drop, and with it, his will to live. Frostbite hasn’t taken a finger or two off of him yet, which is good. Mingyu wants to keep all ten of his fingers, thank you very much.

 

Most of the boys are already at their usual table, and Mingyu hears them before he sees them. Hansol’s yelling over something Mingyu guesses must be unimportant, and Jeonghan’s obnoxious laughter follows right after.

 

There’s still a considerable amount of space left for him to take a seat, a glaringly obvious indication that at least one of them is missing. A constant lack of breathing space and personal boundaries is to be expected at the table, so it’s hard not to notice when someone’s spot is empty— there’s no bumping of shoulders, and air doesn’t feel squeezed out of their lungs.

 

“Have you seen Cheol?” Jisoo asks as Mingyu takes a seat beside Hansol, who immediately throws his arms around him in a bear hug.

 

It’s so suffocating, Mingyu hasn’t even gotten the chance to shrug off his padded coat yet, but he tries his best not to shake his friend off. He had made the mistake of shrugging Hansol’s invasive limbs off two weeks prior, and it took an hour of coaxing and pacifying to reassure a crying Hansol that _no,_ Mingyu sincerely doesn’t hate him.

 

“No, I came here alone.” Mingyu says, and Jisoo doesn’t ask any further. It’s nothing to be concerned about, because Seungcheol’s tardy ass is more likely to be held up in the principal’s office than anything else.

 

Soonyoung wrestles with the cling wrap of his turkey bacon sandwich, face contorted into one of agony as his fingers tangle with the clear plastic.

 

“Why they gotta restrain my damn bread like that, man?” Soonyoung says just as Junhui plucks the offending meal from his hands and unwraps it with polished ease, fingers nimble and precise. Junhui works in a brunch café after all, and he’s proficient in the art of sandwiches and paninis. Mingyu can personally vouch for that— Junhui occasionally grills an extra ham and cheese for him in the morning— and he makes the cafeteria food look pitiful in comparison. It’s no more than a piece of hardened deli meat squished between two slices of stale bread, but at least it’s made of whole grain. Maybe the extra fiber is enough to counter food poisoning.

 

“This some bondage, S&M level kinda shit.” Junhui says grimly. He balls up the plastic wrap and steals the first bite of the sandwich before returning it to its owner. “They should hire me as their new sandwich boy.”

 

“Nah, I wouldn’t buy bread from someone who looks like the local drug dealer.” Jisoo pipes up from his seat across the table, and he deserves the ball of plastic wrap that is hurled at his face.

 

“Why not?” Jeonghan says, “He'd probably substitute some lettuce for weed. Junhui digs that kind of shit.”

 

“Screw y'all, man, I literally speak the language of sandwiches?”

 

“So what’s your opinion on a weed sandwich?”

 

It's all normal occurrence, until Seungcheol finally shows up. He makes a huge commotion as he barrels towards the table, each footstep full of purpose and determination. There’s some guy trailing behind Seungcheol, and while his face is obstructed from view, the broad shoulders and all are a dead giveaway.

 

“My boys,” Seungcheol announces, and he slams his hands down on the table, “Wonwoo shall be joining us for the rest of his stay!”

 

The boy is sporting a black face mask, which he pulls down to his chin to unveil a _very_ prominent bruise. It has darkened considerably, and Mingyu is made aware of places he didn’t even know he hit. There are obvious shades of purple on the corner of his lips, and the milky, almost glassy quality of Wonwoo’s complexion doesn’t help in concealing it whatsoever.

 

There are cheers from everyone but Mingyu, and Hansol even burns his tongue on a spoonful of watered-down kimchi soup in his excitement.

 

Wonwoo takes a seat beside Soonyoung, and they both exchange some kind of secret handshake or whatever, Mingyu doesn’t care. He can’t help but flinch at the looming presence though, and Wonwoo’s eyes instantly focus on Mingyu’s cowering form, leaving the taller feeling extremely small and unworthy under his strong gaze.

 

Mingyu might have a few centimetres on him, but Wonwoo wins in all other aspects of intimidation. His friends are unhelpfully quiet, minding their own business for the first time ever, and Mingyu knows it can only mean no good.

 

Seungcheol breaks the silence first.

  
“You know,” he says around a mouthful of pasta, pointing an accusing chopstick at Wonwoo, “I think you’d make a fantastic tutor. For our dearest Mingyu over here, since you both take the same courses.”

 

The tapered end of the utensil hovers dangerously close to the boy’s face, and Wonwoo looks infinitely displeased.

 

“Seungcheol, no offense,” he says, expression schooled into one of casual indifference as he unwraps his candy bar, “but I hate your best friend.”

 

Hansol lets out a honk of laughter, and says, “Right. That he do.”

 

The two are obviously on the same page, because Wonwoo even lets Hansol have the first bite of his chocolate. As betrayed as Mingyu feels, he knows that Hansol means no harm, so he settles for saying, “I hate you back.”

 

“Hate is just confused love,” Jeonghan chimes in, and Mingyu wants to throw a juice box at him. He misses the days when Jeonghan was a shy new recruit, joined to Jisoo by the shoulder, only talking when prompted. Now, Jeonghan has been expertly and meticulously groomed into Seungcheol’s evil incarnate.

 

There’s a piece of paper slid across the table, and Seungcheol elbows Mingyu in the ribs to get his attention. It’s a timetable, specifically _Wonwoo’s_ timetable, and there are several classes highlighted in grey, alongside doodles of stick men and misshapen flowers. (The drawings are strangely uncharacteristic of Wonwoo; Mingyu would have never pegged him as the doodling type.) The highlighted time slots all seem awfully familiar, and there’s the feeling of dread stirring in the pits of Mingyu’s stomach.

 

“Anyway. So like I said,” Seungcheol singles out a highlighted box with his finger, “Wonwoo shares most of his classes with you. That leaves _you_ to take care of him.”

 

Seungcheol rummages through his bag and pulls out a laminated copy of his cousin’s timetable and presses it into Mingyu’s unwilling hands. “For you.”

 

“Why am I the babysitter? I don’t—”

 

There’s suddenly a crushing weight on his foot, gone as quickly as it came, but Mingyu feels the blow straight through his Timberland boots and down to the bone, and he immediately recoils in pain. His instant thought goes to Seungcheol, but his best friend is looking at him with a face of confusion, so it couldn’t be him.

 

Mingyu’s gaze shifts to the person beside said best friend, and _Wonwoo_ is looking at him with eyes so pointed, Mingyu thinks he’s being stabbed a million times over. He doesn’t have to look below the table to figure out who the culprit was, he’s not an idiot.

 

Seungcheol takes silence as consent, and claps his hand on Mingyu’s back in gratitude, going on about how he’s “a real good bud” despite “sucker-punching his cousin”. The reminder of Mingyu’s stupidity is enough to make him agree to whatever Seungcheol asks of him, even if it’s half-hearted.

 

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to realise how terrifying it is to be stuck with Wonwoo. Afternoon classes are about to resume, and everyone has a long walk back to their respective faculties ahead of them. Seungcheol waves them off with a fatherly smile, like he’s marrying his precious son off, except Mingyu doesn’t know who exactly is the son he’s marrying off, and that they are _not_ getting married.

 

In the thirty minutes that Mingyu and Wonwoo have been left alone to make the excruciatingly lengthy walk back to their college, they have only bickered and argued for the full duration of it. And there’s still a dull throbbing in his foot in every step Mingyu has to take, so that sucks.

 

_(“Thanks for crushing my foot.”_

 

_“No problem. Thanks for punching me in the face.”_

 

 _“Come on, that was_ one _time.”_

 

_“Tell that to my bruises.”)_

 

It’s almost laughable, the way Wonwoo refuses to walk by Mingyu’s side and settles for awkwardly trailing behind. When he steps on the back of Mingyu’s sneakers for the sixth time in five minutes though, Mingyu makes it a point to walk beside _him._

 

Whether Wonwoo was truly unhappy about walking in synchronisation with Mingyu’s footsteps though, would forever remain a mystery. Because when they’re finally in the tutorial room and Mingyu makes a move to take a seat in his usual spot, Wonwoo still doesn’t leave his side, standing uncomfortably to his right.

 

Majority of the class is already seated and all eyes are on the new kid, so when the professor tells him to _go ahead and pick a seat,_ Wonwoo immediately freezes up.

 

“Oh. I’ll just— stay here, um, beside Mingyu.” Wonwoo forces out, and Mingyu swears he can see the boy’s ears turn bright red.

 

“Of course. Sit down, class is starting,” their professor replies, and Mingyu’s original seatmate is shifted a chair down to accommodate the addition of Wonwoo.

 

Mingyu wants to say, _no_ _,_ they are _not_ friends, not even close. But Wonwoo looks as though he can barely keep his head up from the embarrassment, and Mingyu is about to say something snarky when Wonwoo shuts him up with a glare.

 

“Speak of this and die.”

 

The class right after is calculus, and Wonwoo once again requests to sit next to Mingyu, even though it meant sharing a two-seater table. And while it kinda weirds him out, Mingyu tells himself to see it as just another person to copy off of. He doesn’t have the time to dwell on seating arrangements anyway, not when the professor’s already handing out the class test and giving Mingyu the evil eye when he passes by their table. The dude definitely hates Mingyu for bringing down the class average score, and very possibly his annual bonus. Well then, Mingyu hates him too. He’s busy challenging his professor in an intense staring contest when Wonwoo’s voice shatters his concentration.

 

“Heard you sucked at calculus,” comes a soft, but still snarky whisper from Mingyu’s right. He doesn’t have the time to entertain Wonwoo and his useless comments, though, not when he was two seconds away from winning a stare-down.

 

Wonwoo gets a test paper too, and the boy looks awfully peaceful as he leisurely peruses his collection of pens for the perfect one to use. Mingyu watches as Wonwoo angles his paper away from him and even deliberately places his pencil case between them both, setting a clear boundary line— looks like copying isn’t an option anymore. Mingyu’s left alone to die on this one.

 

The timer starts, and Mingyu promptly falls asleep.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

“What do you mean, _you lost Wonwoo?”_

 

Mingyu grimaces at the sharp tone of Soonyoung’s voice, grainy and gritty over his phone and the school WiFi. His heart weighs heavy in his chest— how does someone lose a human-sized beanstalk—and he double checks the washroom beside the classrooms again. Wonwoo’s not there.

 

God damn, how hard was it for Mingyu to just suck it up and ask Wonwoo for his number, in case of emergencies like this? Wonwoo had gone missing following their little tiff after calculus, and if Mingyu were to be honest, it was probably his own fault.

 

(“Dude, stop looking around and actually _follow_ me. I’m going to be late for physics, thanks to _you_.”

 

“Watch your tone, Mingyu.” Wonwoo says, and Mingyu holds his tongue. Was Mingyu overreacting? Probably, he knows his tone is unnecessarily curt. But he’d just bombed his calculus test— the one that carries seven percent of his final grade— and Mingyu’s stressed out. The stupid professor even called him out after class to give him a warning, with Wonwoo waiting outside the lecture hall, because Mingyu’s the only familiar thing within a fifty-metre radius. So he has a reason to be a little more snippy today.

 

“You’re not the only one who’s late, Mingyu. I take the class too.”

 

“Yeah, you’re not the one with a giant target on your forehead. The professor can’t roast who he doesn’t know _exists_.”

 

Wonwoo sighs. “I am trying to get used to this place. It’s not that easy, alright? _You_ of all people should be aware of this, considering how you don’t even know your shit well, and you’ve been here for two years.”

 

The comment hits a nerve, and now Mingyu’s annoyed. At the back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware that Wonwoo might very well be referring to the incident two hours prior where Mingyu confidently marched into the wrong lecture hall, and _not_ at his general incompetence in calculus— but he’s tired, his mind is full of stupid mathematical jargon and his judgement skills are definitely impaired.

 

“Fuck, why does it matter? You don’t even belong in this school, nobody cares.”

 

Mingyu doesn’t get any response after that. He looks back just once, and Wonwoo’s features appear almost downcast, and Mingyu feels his chest tighten the slightest. He doesn’t think about it anymore, and starts for the north wing of the school. The sound of Wonwoo’s constant footsteps tells Mingyu that the smaller male is trailing somewhere behind him, leaving him to fight with his thoughts. An apology hangs on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t want to create a bigger rift between himself and Wonwoo, more than it already has been ever since he threw that punch two days prior.

 

He’s too caught up in his head, and he doesn’t notice how Wonwoo’s footsteps have blended into everyone else’s as they pass through the main campus. The next time he looks back, after finally making a decision, Wonwoo’s nowhere to be seen.)

 

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Mingyu tells Soonyoung, and he drags his fingers through his hair rougher than he ever would. More than anything, he’s disappointed with himself. He knows better than anyone else that Wonwoo has never done him any wrong, yet Mingyu has punched him square in the face, trivialised his feelings and lost him amongst a sea of students, leaving him to fend for himself in a foreign school. All that in under three days of meeting him.

 

“Well, you better pay attention now, that’s what your eyeballs are for!”

 

Soonyoung disconnects the call cheerfully as classes resume, and Mingyu continues to jog down corridors that are gradually clearing of students. His height helps, giving him a vantage point of some sort, and Mingyu finally spots a familiar back view near the computer labs.

 

Wonwoo looks terrifyingly small in the empty hallways, and even from afar, Mingyu can sense his discomfort. The poor boy looks like he’s wandering aimlessly, and when Wonwoo makes yet another wrong turn, Mingyu doesn’t think twice before he reaches out to grab him by the arm.

 

“Hey.”

 

Wonwoo’s face is blank when he turns around, but Mingyu can see relief flooding his eyes. He does eventually shake Mingyu’s grip off, but no one can really blame him.

 

They end up skipping applied physics— they’re left with less than half an hour to the end of class, anyway— and they sit in silence at one of the wooden tables the school places under every block of classrooms. It’s the most peace they’ve had between the both of them ever since their first meeting, and Mingyu thinks it’s partially because they’re both too tired to claw at each other’s necks. If the change of routine seems a little tricky for Mingyu to adjust to, then Wonwoo’s probably having it worse by a tenfold.

 

Fuelling the fire that’s already burning away at the tiny possibility of a friendship wasn’t supposed to be on the timetable, and everything Mingyu does simply pushes the other boy further away. He’s beginning to think that he’s simply not meant to get along with Wonwoo, the way you can’t charge a Nokia with an iPhone cable, and maybe they’re just not programmed to ever have an amicable relationship. But there’s no way Wonwoo’s leaving anytime soon, so Mingyu really needs to make this work, and failure is not an option. He’s not about to be enemies with his best friend’s family.

 

“Sorry?” Mingyu tries.

 

“Don’t bother.” Wonwoo says, and Mingyu takes that as yet another rejection. Half expects him to get up and walk out on the conversation. But Wonwoo doesn’t budge, the only movement he makes is to rest his head on the table, and Mingyu is surprised to say the least.

 

There’s nothing left for Mingyu to say after that, because he wasn’t expecting to be stuck in a situation whereby he would have to actually _speak_ to Wonwoo in the first place. Mingyu almost gives himself an aneurysm trying to piece together a cohesive, proper sentence, and in the considerable amount of time he spends beating himself up for his illiteracy, he belatedly realises that Wonwoo hasn’t even moved the slightest.

 

The boy has his cheek pressed against his arms that are folded on the table, but he isn’t facing Mingyu, which is understandable— Mingyu wouldn’t want to look at an asshole that ditched him in a crowded corridor either.

 

“Hey,” Mingyu gives Wonwoo’s shoulder the gentlest of gentle nudges, because he doesn’t want to be accused of causing physical harm again, “you still alive?”

 

There’s no reply, and Mingyu briefly wonders if the boy’s really dead. Or maybe just ignoring him again. But the steady breathing and the gentle rise and fall of Wonwoo’s shoulders prove that _no_ he’s not dead, and shit, did he just fall asleep? What kinda jetlag _does_ that? Looks like Seungcheol wasn’t shitting around when he said Wonwoo had it severe.

 

Mingyu has to quietly make his way around the table to double check, and sure enough, Wonwoo’s fast asleep. There’s no longer a hint of a frown on his face and his eyelashes cast faint shadows onto his cheeks, and upclose, Mingyu is surprised at how harmless the boy looks. The purple bruises peeking out from underneath Wonwoo’s mask suddenly seem to contrast even more against his pale complexion, and Mingyu only now notices the tiredness under his eyes.

 

Guilt tastes bitter on his tongue. There’s no way Wonwoo would be stupid enough to let himself fall asleep in front of some bastard that punched him less than seventy-two hours prior, if he didn’t have at least the _tiniest_ bit of trust in Mingyu. Wonwoo’s defenses are all down, and Mingyu could clobber him against the table. The realisation hits Mingyu hard, and his head hurts just thinking about it. Everything just points to him being the big, bad guy, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise. There is no real justification though, for punching Wonwoo in the face, and there’s no one at fault but himself.

 

Mingyu doesn’t have the heart to wake Wonwoo up even when a classmate texts to ask if he was running late for the next lecture. He doesn’t know exactly when he dozes off too, but Mingyu wakes up to movement beside him. His legs have fallen asleep and his arms have gone completely numb from the weird angle they were folded in, and it’s so fucking uncomfortable—

 

Mingyu freezes when he sees Wonwoo staring back at him.

 

“You’re still here.”

 

The sentence isn’t a question, more like a statement, and Mingyu mind is still too hazy for him to deduce the point Wonwoo is trying to get at.

 

“I mean, yeah?” Mingyu mumbles, not quite sure of what else Wonwoo expects him to say. He massages the joint of his shoulder, sore from him being slouched over the table.

 

Wonwoo’s looking at him all sorts of funny, and when Mingyu checks his phone for the time, he can only interpret the other’s the expression as one of annoyance, because classes are all over for the day.

 

“Sorry, did you want me to wake you up?”  

 

Mingyu’s starting to feel a little self conscious under the gaze, and he doesn’t want to be holding eye contact with Wonwoo for any longer than necessary, so he busies himself with his phone. There are several missed messages from Seungcheol and even a missed call, and Mingyu scrolls through his notifications half-heartedly.

 

_Yo champ. How’s the day going_

 

_You didn’t fight wonwoo did you now_

 

_Helloooo?? Answer your phone_

 

_Did you kill my cousin_

 

Mingyu looks over at Wonwoo again, who’s very much alive and definitely not killed. His hair is messy and sticking up in places where it has been slept on, but his expression is noticeably the most relaxed it has been for the whole of today. Mingyu takes that as a good sign.

 

“I’ll be going home,” is the only reply from Wonwoo, and before Mingyu can point out how he probably doesn’t even know the way back to the dorms, Wonwoo walks off with his belongings.

 

Ok, maybe it isn’t a good sign. So much for trying to be nice, Mingyu thinks he should’ve taken the chance to doodle on Wonwoo’s face a sharpie, or even dump cold water on his stupid, sleeping head instead.

 

Still, Mingyu debates going after him, but he doesn’t think Wonwoo would appreciate the gesture. Maybe he’s really upset that Mingyu didn’t wake him up in time for classes? Maybe Wonwoo’s the perfect-student-zero-absenteeism type of guy.

 

Mingyu’s loads his chat with Seungcheol and types up a reply. If it were anybody else, Mingyu would’ve found their worrying funny and amusing, but years of knowing Seungcheol tells Mingyu that his best friend is very capable of lodging a missing persons report and dispatching a rescue team to search for his not-so-missing cousin. (Two years ago, Seungcheol reported Hansol missing after the latter had fallen asleep in their closet. It took an hour of begging to convince the police officers that Seungcheol wasn’t pulling a prank on them and making a false report, after they’d found Hansol dead drunk beneath a mountain of clothing.)

 

His finger hovers over the _send_ button, because Mingyu isn’t sure replying now would be entirely appropriate, especially after leaving Seungcheol hanging for over an hour. But Wonwoo has long disappeared from his sight, and Mingyu has yet to get over that small part of him that’s worried about the other boy getting lost on his way back, and that thought alone is enough to urge him forward.

 

_Let me know when Wonwoo reaches home._

 

The nagging feeling doesn’t disappear until Seungcheol replies some time later with a picture— attached with the caption _don’t worry he doesn’t know what or who this pic is for lol—_ and there’s Wonwoo holding a thumbs up for the camera, eyes crinkled and the corners of his lips lifted into the gentlest of smiles. Mingyu saves the photo.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

Despite Mingyu’s fervent prayers before bed, it doesn't get any easier in the days after that.

 

Since the blowout after calculus, they have only wanted to fight each other a grand total of seven times, but Lady Luck has it that the disagreements usually occurred when they were seated in a group, on opposite ends of the cafeteria table— if circle tables even had ends.

 

Bless the rest of the boys, because they all deserve a medal for frantically diffusing every bomb Mingyu wants to throw at Wonwoo (vice versa), and for having the foresight to hold them both down in case one lunges across the table.

 

What they don’t do, though, is tie Wonwoo’s stupid legs together. Which they _should_ _,_ because it seems as though Wonwoo has been blessed with the ability to locate Mingyu’s foot amongst many others. He doesn't know what kind of voodoo black magic or human echolocation the boy uses, but _damn_ _,_ is Wonwoo precise.

 

Soon, Mingyu has bruises all over his legs from Wonwoo kicking him repeatedly beneath the table. He started to notice the reoccurring kicks on Tuesday, when Jeonghan had asked about Wonwoo’s progress.

 

(“So, like, who do you sit with in class?”

 

Wonwoo doesn’t reply immediately, so Mingyu does the honour of talking for him. Because it really should be made general knowledge that the tall and brooding Jeon Wonwoo is too afraid to leave Kim Mingyu’s side during lectures and lessons.

 

“Wonwoo literally _glues_ himself to m— fuck!”

 

There’s a sharp pain shooting up his right leg, and Mingyu can see Wonwoo shifting in his seat. Their eyes meet, and there is a taunting smile tugging at Wonwoo’s lips.

 

“Wonwoo glues himself to mm-fuck?” Hansol repeats slowly, and his frown deepens with every word he speaks. “Kinda weird, but _okay_.”

 

Mingyu doesn’t reply, he’s too busy staring Wonwoo down to deal with Hansol’s idiocy, but Wonwoo is steadfast in standing his ground. Grudgingly, Mingyu acknowledges his confidence. He doesn’t often meet people with skin as thick as his own.)

 

The number of bruises from how hard Wonwoo had kicked his winter boots into Mingyu’s legs was enough to prove to Seungcheol that yes, his dearest cousin had been tormenting his dearest best friend. Seungcheol had told Wonwoo off that very night, and since then, Wonwoo has changed his tactics, cleverly deciding to reduce the strength in his blows. No, he has gone for the more infuriating approach of prodding at Mingyu’s leg repeatedly with his toe to slowly needle away at his patience.

 

Wonwoo’s petty as hell, but so is Mingyu, so maybe they can bond through mutual pettiness.

 

The next argument they have is on Wednesday night, when Mingyu drops by his friends’ place to get a takeaway dinner together. They argue over what to eat. Hansol wants pizza but Seungcheol wants chinese. Neither of them get what they want though, because they end up getting fried chicken delivered to their doorstep.

 

Nothing goes wrong during the meal, because Mingyu and Wonwoo don’t really come in direct contact (apart from the fact that Mingyu can feel Wonwoo’s fluffy cat slippers nudging at his foot from under the table, but he lets it slide, and they manage to avoid conflict and postpone World War III for another five minutes). Mingyu loses rock, paper, scissors and lands the shitty responsibility of throwing out the trash, and Wonwoo is still steadfastly ignoring him as he slices up an apple at the table.

 

When Mingyu returns to the room, Wonwoo is offering an apple slice to his cousin.

 

“He won’t eat fruits.” Mingyu snorts in disbelief, because it's a world-wide known fact that Seungcheol hates fruits. Having finally gotten one over Wonwoo, he leans across the table in typical Mingyu fashion, a smug grin on his face. “Isn’t that something a cousin should know?”

 

Wonwoo doesn’t reply. Only blinks once as the apple slice approaches Seungcheol’s mouth. Mingyu watches in acute disbelief when Seungcheol accepts it easily, chomping on the entire slice as it’s sucked past his lips. Mingyu is horrified. The realest, least artificial fruit that he has ever seen Seungcheol consume is the lemon pulp floating around in his detox water, and the occasional chocolate-covered maraschino cherry on his ice cream. Seungcheol even uses his fear of fruits as a conversation starter.

 

So why the hell is he munching on an apple slice like it’s the most natural thing in the world?

 

“Dude,” Mingyu stares at Seungcheol like he’s some kind of alien that has just transcended time and space and landed on Earth. “You hate fruits.”

 

Seungcheol’s mouth is full and he can’t speak without projecting apple bits across the room, and he holds a finger up to _give him a moment,_ but Wonwoo cuts in, lips curled like a feline and a haughty glint in his eyes. “He’s fine with apples. Isn’t that something a _best friend_ should know?”

 

Now that last line was unnecessary.

 

“No, he _isn’t_. What the fuck, I have never seen him pick up an apple in my life.”

 

“That’s ‘cause I only eat them if they’re cut, and like, y’all wouldn’t cut any for me,” Seungcheol finally pipes up. But Mingyu wishes he’d just shut up instead, because now he just looks like a misinformed idiot and a crappy best friend. Wonwoo is giving him a look so triumphant, Mingyu is ready to strangle him. But he doesn’t, only because Wonwoo’s still holding onto the fruit knife.

 

“Really,” Mingyu turns to Seungcheol, and oh, hey, maybe he should strangle him instead. “Apple, of all fruits?”

 

“Don’t blame others just because you suck,” Wonwoo says, and fuck, that’s it. Mingyu doesn’t think twice when he snatches the pillow Hansol’s hugging right out of the poor guy’s arms, and sends it hurling at Wonwoo’s head.

 

It takes fifteen minutes for Hansol and Seungcheol to stop the fight, because Wonwoo has started to throw things that should not even be thrown around. Say, Hansol’s hair dryer, for example. Or Seungcheol’s laptop. At least _one of them_ is having fun; Wonwoo’s all sly smiles and low laughter with every poor item he throws, but nobody else can relate.

 

Mingyu’s hair is messy and his clothes crumpled when he walks through the door of his own dorm, and he gets another scolding from Junhui that night, not for fighting, but for fighting over something stupid.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

Thursday is the first time that Mingyu isn’t on babysitting duty, because he doesn’t share the same electives as Wonwoo, and Thursday is electives day. But, as Mingyu watches the boy disappear down the corridor to attend his extra-departmental course, there’s no explanation for the uneasiness he feels knowing that Wonwoo is taking the class alone.

 

Maybe it has something to do with the trauma Mingyu still suffers from after his friends grilled his ass on an open flame for losing poor little Wonwoo on his first day of school. Now, he has separation issues, _how nice._

 

Mingyu doesn’t miss the look of surprise on Wonwoo’s face when he walks out of the lecture hall an hour later and catches sight of him by the doorway, trying his best to look casual.

 

“Why are you here?” he whispers, as if not wanting to draw any attention to the both of them. His shock makes it more of a whisper-shout, though, and Mingyu leans away with a grimace.

 

It’s a good question, one that Mingyu doesn’t have an answer to.

 

“Is it not time for electives now?” Wonwoo says, “I thought I still had business analysis.”

 

Wonwoo fumbles for his phone in his pocket, and Mingyu hears him mumble a soft “let me check.” He thoughtlessly reaches a hand out to stop him, and Wonwoo very nearly jumps at his touch. The only other time they’ve made direct skin-to-skin contact was when Mingyu threw that punch at his face, so Mingyu can't blame him.

 

‘Don’t bother, you’re right.”

 

Wonwoo gives him a look so doubtful, his brows are knitted in a frown and he’s staring like Mingyu has somehow grown a second head in the three minutes they’ve been conversing. Mingyu knows what Wonwoo’s thinking, can almost hear the _but you don’t take business analysis_ that’s bound to leave his tongue _._ He fights the blush that slowly creeps up his neck, _god,_ he’s so embarrassed— but he owes Wonwoo an explanation.

 

“How did you get here so quickly? Did you _zoom zoom_ your way here?”

 

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

 

“Answer my question.” Wonwoo says, “Don’t you have somewhere to be? You have, what, _The Dissection of the Wistful Frog_ or something so why are you h—“

 

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu insists. “Let’s go, or you’ll be late.” He’s not about to explain how he basically ran his ass over to Wonwoo’s lecture hall after his own elective ended, praying to the higher ups that Wonwoo’s class doesn’t dismiss early. Letting out a snort, he tries to change the subject, but even he knows it’s not convincing. “You just made that up.”

 

“Shut up,” Wonwoo humors him, but barely. There’s a strange look in his eyes, one that Mingyu can’t quite pinpoint, but Mingyu also thinks Wonwoo resembles a cute cat with its ears perked at something he just heard, so he doesn’t really trust his brain right now. He looks deep in thought, and Mingyu barely catches the emotions flashing across his face, each one gone as swiftly as it had appeared.

 

Doubt, confusion. Curiosity?

 

Mingyu doesn’t wait for any further acknowledgement before he starts marching down the corridor, before he self-combusts in embarrassment. He can still feel Wonwoo’s steady gaze on him, and he doesn’t dare to turn around.

 

There’s a long pause before Mingyu finally hears footsteps start to follow behind him.

 

It’s no surprise that Wonwoo _still_ refuses to walk alongside him, so Mingyu just keeps his ears open for the squeaking of Wonwoo’s sneakers. It doesn’t take too long for them to reach Wonwoo’s class, and Mingyu has to practice a farewell in his head, one that’s not _too_ awkward not _too_ friendly, one that’s _just right._ He mentally hypes himself up; all he needs to do is give a little wave and maybe throw in a little smile, right?

 

“Bye,” Mingyu says, because the word is neutral and nothing can really go wrong with just a simple _bye_. He gives Wonwoo a slightly forced, tight-lipped smile— _keep it natural, damn it_ — and Wonwoo just… stares.

 

Mingyu deflates exactly like the world’s saddest balloon, because _Wonwoo_ is walking into the classroom like Mingyu’s simply non-existent. But then Wonwoo’s by the door and turning back to look at him, and Mingyu feels his heart clench in a not entirely unpleasant manner, because Wonwoo gives him a smile that’s usually reserved for Seungcheol or his closer friends. Friends like Hansol, or even Soonyoung. It's not the brightest smile Mingyu has ever seen, but neither is it the sickly sweet or spiteful grins Wonwoo usually wears, so Mingyu doesn’t feel the urge to smack his face for it. Wonwoo’s eyes are formed into little crescents and he looks much softer around the edges, his features far more delicate. Mingyu can tell it's genuine.

 

They don’t fight for the rest of the day, and that’s a first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand thank you for reading!
> 
> see you in the next update!
> 
> please let me know what you think in the comments, I love me some comments ♡


	5. Chapter 5

Mingyu would like to think that, within the span of a few days, his relationship with Wonwoo has finally reached, at best, the level of mutual _tolerance._ They haven’t argued since Wednesday night, so their slate has been clean for, what, two days? It’s progress, nonetheless.

 

But it all goes to shit when Mingyu arrives for work that Friday evening, because standing behind the bar (alongside where Mingyu should rightfully be) and in identical uniforms is _Wonwoo_. He’s too busy serving up drinks to Soonyoung to notice Mingyu standing by the entrance, but Seungcheol clearly isn’t. It only takes a second before he’s throwing himself at Mingyu.

 

“You’re here!” Seungcheol shouts over the music, hanging an arm over Mingyu’s shoulder. “I have decided to hire Wonwoo as another part-timer, hope that’s cool with ya. The more helping hands, the better, y’know?”

 

“Soonyoung has literally been wanting to work here for _ages,_ and you told him you couldn’t afford to hire anyone else.” Mingyu says, and he has to resist rolling his eyes. The idea of working with Wonwoo doesn’t sit well with him at all, especially when their workplace brings back unwanted memories of their first meeting.

 

“That wasn’t a lie,” Seungcheol says, “Wonwoo gave me a cousin _employer_ discount, so like, he works for a lesser pay.”

 

Mingyu wonders if his best friend thinks he’s stupid, and he shrugs Seungcheol’s arm off in irritation. “Soonyoung offered to work for _free_.”

 

Seungcheol just laughs the conversation off, and it’s starting to get on Mingyu’s nerves. He doesn’t appreciate being forcefully glued to Wonwoo’s side, and he was even hoping to avoid any interaction with the dude during the weekends.

 

But now he’s once again stuck with Wonwoo, who hasn’t even acknowledged his existence— hasn’t even _spared_ him a single glance— he’s too busy attempting to crush ginger with the back of a spoon. The ginger repeatedly slips out from beneath the utensil, and Wonwoo seems to be losing his patience, if the way he’s beginning to forcefully stab at the root is any indication. The food processor sits untouched on the countertop, and perhaps Wonwoo isn’t so smart in certain areas after all.

 

“What are even you doing,” Mingyu says with a snort, walking over to pluck the spoon out of Wonwoo’s hands.

 

But apparently Wonwoo keeps an iron grip on all of his utensils, because the boy snatches it back, and points it threateningly at Mingyu. Not that a spoon is all that intimidating of a weapon, but, yeah. The customers waiting by the bar are staring, and Mingyu doesn’t really need the unwanted attention right now. He doesn’t know why Wonwoo’s getting _so_ defensive over a spoon, but it probably has to do with how Mingyu has _danger, keep away_ written all over him. So much for the little moment they had outside Wonwoo’s class yesterday. Mingyu thought the smile Wonwoo had given him really meant something, maybe like a peace treaty of some sort, but here they are, Wonwoo is brandishing a spoon, and Mingyu is ready to hit him if he so much as steps a hair out of line.

 

“Stop it, Wonwoo, there are customers everywhere. What’s your damn problem?” Mingyu hisses, smacking Wonwoo’s wrist out of the way.

 

Wonwoo yanks his hand back. “Don’t touch me.”

 

“There’s literally a food processor right there. Or you could use the muddler,” Mingyu rakes his hands through his hair in annoyance, and the fifteen minutes he spent carefully styling it to perfection goes down the drain.

 

“Mingyu,” Soonyoung warns from his seat on the opposite side of the bar, eyes pointed. “It’s fine. Leave it be.” Mingyu gives him a withering stare.

 

He also curses his best friend to the deepest pits of hell, because what could have been going through Seungcheol’s mind when he decided to put the two of them together? Mingyu especially doesn’t appreciate the blatant invasion of his territory. He has been manning the drink bar since day one, has spent a year and a half meticulously arranging and labelling each and every bottle and all the fixings, and bartending is just about the _only_ skill Mingyu can be proud of.

 

Right off the bat, Mingyu can already point out the bottles that have been mispositioned— the Chardonnay has been switched with the Bailey’s, and several bottles of whisky and tequila are just sitting aimlessly on the counter. Wonwoo hadn’t returned them after using them, and Mingyu’s on the verge of losing it. He’s ready to kick Wonwoo’s ass out, and he’s willing to do it both figuratively _and_ literally.

 

“Why the hell are you using a _spoon,_ dude?”

 

“I’ll use a spoon if I want to,” Wonwoo sneers, and he punctuates every word, just to prove his point.

 

Something snaps in Mingyu, and the tenuous peace is finally broken— it’s a miracle they have held off a fight for that long, anyway. There’s no telling who lunges forward first, but Mingyu can see Wonwoo raising his fist, so he reciprocates the favour. The movement seems to set off a chain reaction, because Soonyoung springs up too.

 

“Cheol, help!” Soonyoung yells, before he’s diving forward, across the countertop, to make a grab for Wonwoo’s arm. He knocks his beer off the table in the process, the glass bottle shattering into millions of pieces beneath them.

 

There’s the sound of footsteps running, and Mingyu can hear Seungcheol shouting for them to stop. Not a second later is he brought into a bone-crushing lock, Seungcheol grabbing him from the back and pinning his arms to his side. Apart from arm wrestles which he loses in less than five seconds, Mingyu has never actually experienced his best friend’s full strength, but Mingyu now understands why Seungcheol goes to the gym.

 

Neither of them get close to landing a blow, which is really kinda lame and anticlimatic. Seungcheol is looking the angriest Mingyu has ever seen him when they are all forced to assemble in the back room, out of the public’s eye. Not that it really helps, because everyone is already whispering, most of them students from their university, and Mingyu can already foresee the rumours of him tomorrow. _Kim Mingyu viciously attacks an exchange student from America, gets into a fist fight at the bar._

 

Jisoo and Jeonghan are promptly dispatched in an attempt at damage control. They’re the most charming of the group, and Mingyu’s best bets in avoiding a visit to the principal’s office.

 

Hansol’s already ready to receive them, standing by the back room door, and he seats Wonwoo on a beanbag in the furthest corner of the room. Soonyoung sits on top of him, to prevent Wonwoo from escaping, or very possibly, charging at Mingyu. It's all a collective effort.

 

Seungcheol sends Mingyu to time-out in the opposite corner, and he’s looking like a disappointed father who has come to bail his failure of a son out of prison once again.

 

“Dude! Can’t you stop fighting him for once?” Seungcheol says, and he makes it clear that he’s unhappy with a lame stomp of his foot. “You fought in front of the customers!”

 

“Why are you siding him?” Mingyu retorts. “It’s not my damn fault if Wonwoo wants to fight me too!”

 

“Blood is thicker than water.” Wonwoo sing-songs from his corner of the room, and Hansol promptly slaps a hand over his mouth.

 

Seungcheol throws his arms in the air in desperation. “I put him here, hoping you can acclimate to him, so that you can both cohabitate! But no! You had to get territorial!”

 

Seungcheol’s choice of words are a little unsettling, a little too animalistic for Mingyu’s tastes, but then again, maybe they _are_ behaving like wild animals fighting over scraps or some shit.

 

“And what were _you_ trying to do?” Seungcheol switches courses and focuses his attention on Wonwoo instead, and his eyes fall on the spoon still clasped tightly between his cousin’s fingers. What little light the back room has, reflects off of the metal in a not-so-intimidating way. “Were you going to scoop him to death?”

 

Hansol lets out a hideous snort of laughter at the comment, and he quickly slaps his remaining free hand over his own mouth. But Wonwoo doesn’t reply, simply because he can’t, not with his friend's grubby hand over his mouth. It's a miracle how the boy hasn't attempted to bite his way to freedom yet, and Hansol should probably be grateful that he still has all ten fingers.

 

“You both think you have it bad, but I have it worse. My two brothers want to fight each other to death, and I have to watch,” Seungcheol laments, and now _that_ makes Mingyu feel a little sorry for him.

 

“You. Go home,” he continues after a pause, and Mingyu has to blink twice before he registers in his slow, feeble mind that Seungcheol’s calling to him. “I’ll teach Wonwoo what to do today, because you’re zero help. You get an unpaid day off.”

 

Mingyu doesn’t argue with that, he doesn’t want to be in this bar for a second longer, not when Jeon Wonwoo is also around. It’s unfair how he’s the one being sent home though, after being best friends for years and loyally slaving his ass off in Seungcheol’s stupid bar for a substantial duration of his life. _But Wonwoo has been around longer._ Mingyu wills the snide voice in his head to shut up and rips his apron off of his waist, throwing it to the floor in a petty tantrum. Wonwoo tips his chin up in mocking triumph, and even has the cheek to lift his stupid, annoyingly manicured brows. Mingyu’s glad that Hansol’s hand is clapped firmly around the guy’s mouth, because he isn’t in the mood for Wonwoo’s taunting.

 

Mingyu’s almost completely out of the door when he hears Seungcheol’s shout from behind him.

 

_“I’m not firing either one of you, so y’all sure as hell better start learning some tolerance!”_

 

The walk back to the dorm is cold and dark, and it doesn’t get any worse than this.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

“You’re telling me, you punched him. Again. Over _ginger_.” Junhui asks incredulously as he tosses Mingyu a leftover egg mayo sandwich from his own dinner. “Dang, and here I was, thinking you guys were doing well.”

 

“I didn’t punch him, I was _going to_ punch him.” Mingyu grumbles, and he takes too forceful a bite out of the sandwich.

 

Junhui shrugs his shoulders and crawls back under his blankets. _Same difference,_ comes the muffled reply, and Mingyu lets out a long, resigned sigh.

 

Junhui resurfaces from the under the covers only to say, “I never thought you were the type to fight over something as dumb as _ginger._ But, I guess that’s my own fault. I must’ve overestimated your intelligence, or underestimated your stupidity.”

 

Mingyu glances over to the sign Junhui had begun hanging on the wall after the previous argument he had with Wonwoo. A shameful _0 days since Mingyu and Wonwoo last fought_ is written on it in red whiteboard marker, accompanied by a drawing of a sad smiley face, all courtesy of an asshole by the name of Wen Junhui. The record had been a pathetic two days.

 

“It wasn’t a fight over ginger. And it’s not my fault he’s always being an asshole.”

 

“Then what, over a spoon?” Junhui snorts. “Either way, it’s stupid. How many times have I told you not to be stupid? Not everyone has a talent for bartending like you do, Mingyu, let him live a little.”

 

“And not everyone has a talent for math,” Mingyu snaps.

 

Junhui raises an eyebrow at this, and he holds his hands up in surrender. “Woah there, soldier. Nobody said anything about you or your complicated relationship with math. Don’t drag me into your domestic issues.”

 

Mingyu sniffs. The cocky, complacent smile Wonwoo had given him after their calculus test still sits fresh in his memory. It sucks that in the few short seconds Mingyu witnessed Wonwoo manning the bar, it’s clear as day that Wonwoo isn’t made for the job; this is the idiot that Mingyu has to work with for the next six months. But it’s sorta comforting for Mingyu to know that, at the very least, he has _one_ thing going on for him. At least he doesn’t lose out to Wonwoo in every aspect of his life.

 

He doesn’t even know why he’s making it a competition.

 

“I hate him.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Junhui replies, shutting Mingyu up with a snap of his fingers when he tries to argue. “If you really hate him, don’t show up for work tomorrow. Actually, don’t show up for work _ever._ Be a man about it, quit your job!”

 

“I’m not going to work tomorrow, Jun.” Mingyu says, and he finishes the remainder of the sandwich. His roommate’s voice is dulled out by the fabric of his blankets when he pulls it over his head.

 

“We’ll see Mingyu, we’ll see.”

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

Seungcheol somehow manages to convince Mingyu to drag his ass to work the very next evening, not because he’s good at convincing, but through the power of sheer determination. It takes thirty-two messages and eleven voicemails for Mingyu to finally answer Seungcheol’s phone call, and it takes another half an hour of talking for him to coax Mingyu out of bed, and changed into his work uniform.

 

Mingyu has Seungcheol on speaker as he lays starfish on his bed, staring up at his white, blank ceiling with no real purpose in life.

 

“C’mon, man, I just need you to teach him your bartending ways. Wonwoo promises to listen to you well.”

 

There’s an indistinctive shout of _no I fucking won’t_ in the background, and Seungcheol instinctively starts screaming gibberish into the receiver to drown out his cousin’s words. It’s too late though, because Mingyu has already heard Wonwoo, and above it all, his eardrums have promptly shattered from his best friend’s war cries.

 

“Give me a good reason why I should teach him.”

 

“Because you’re a nice guy. Because he needs help. Because you _owe me_. I’ve been under tremendous stress lately, all thanks to you.”

 

That’s not good enough a reason, and Mingyu makes it a point to say as he’s hanging up.

 

“Wait!” Seungcheol’s voice and his constant shouting is really starting to give Mingyu a headache, and whatever little will he had to work today is quickly diminishing by the second. “Because I need you to get along with Wonwoo.”

 

Seungcheol sounds defeated, like he has just put forth his final warrior of a reason. It proves to be a valiant move though, because Mingyu falters.

 

Mingyu has never been good at saying no.

 

So that’s how Mingyu ends up in Seungcheol’s bar again, two hours before its opening, and not even a day after trying to punch his cousin… again. Seungcheol isn’t even there to play chaperone, despite being fully aware of Mingyu and Wonwoo’s proven tendency to, well, attack each other. Seungcheol had simply given his cousin the keys and instructions to the back door, and it’s a miracle that Mingyu wasn’t locked out in the cold temperatures to fend for himself.

 

It won’t even be a surprise to him if the whole thing is just a set-up, an elaborate plan of Wonwoo’s to finally murder his stupid ass.

 

“This is dumb,” Mingyu gripes as he dumps out the contents of yet another cocktail glass into the sink _._ The orange liquid whooshes down the drain, bringing with it a huge chunk of Mingyu’s patience. Wonwoo had gotten the proportions off _again_ _,_ this time by a margin even larger than when he first started. How difficult is it to make a Screwdriver? There’s only two damn ingredients to it— vodka and orange juice. It doesn’t take a genius to put two drinks together in a single cup. Also, an ice cube doesn’t fucking count as a third and separate ingredient altogether, no matter how much Wonwoo says it does.

 

Everything is child’s play to Mingyu, his fingers already familiar with every bottle that sits on the shelves, and his mind calibrated to estimate each pour down to the very last milliliter. Wonwoo should be _grateful_ that Mingyu’s even taking time out of his precious day to teach him the simplest of concepts. Pour, mix, repeat.

 

It’s almost offensive, the way Wonwoo is too heavy-handed on the orange juice, or the way he spills vodka all over the counter. Or the way he’s crunching on the bar’s assortment of snacks while he works. Wonwoo even added a whole cinnamon stick to the third drink he made, as a pretty little garnish. _A cinnamon stick._ Mingyu wonders if Wonwoo is even taking him or his words seriously, because why the hell are his mixes getting worse with every glass he manages to fuck up?

 

“ _You_ are dumb.” Wonwoo replies, and he tosses an ice cube into the glass of his tenth attempt at a Screwdriver. The ice cube lands with a splash, and the drink sloshes around the glass, spilling over the edge. Droplets are also sent flying in all sorts of directions, and one hits Mingyu square in the face.

 

Mingyu snatches the drink away from Wonwoo in irritation. It’s a stupid move, because it spills all over his hand instead, and even a little on his previously pristine apron. It has been _forever_ since anything has even set foot on his fucking apron, and the tiny patch of liquid now sitting comfortably on the fabric is incredibly infuriating. There’s a snicker of laugher from Wonwoo, and Mingyu has to repeatedly chant _hold it together, hold it together_ in his head in order to resist flinging the drink at the boy. Maybe even the glass, too.

 

Mingyu takes a sip of Wonwoo’s concoction, and sighs in disappointment when it _still_ tastes like the orange juice little kids would get in their sippy cups, or the kind that comes in pre-packaged juice boxes— all sweetness and without a trace of the distinct bitterness of vodka. The have been at this for over an hour, and the bar is due to open for business in less than thirty minutes. So far, all Mingyu has accomplished is put up with Wonwoo mindlessly snacking at the ingredients and depleting the daily stock, which messes with the daily logistics. He hasn’t managed to teach Wonwoo anything more than how to pour alcohol into shot glasses without overfilling them, but that’s because the latter is refusing to let any helpful information go past his thick skull.

 

“Wrong,” Mingyu says flatly. “Do it again.”

 

Wonwoo stares at Mingyu, face devoid of any emotion. But then, he breaks out in an amused little smile and simply says, “ _You_ do it again.”

 

Mingyu feels a fire being ignited within him, Wonwoo’s stupid comment being the match that strikes and sets him ablaze. He really wants to scream, but he’s not going to let Wonwoo partake in the pleasure of seeing his words successfully piss Mingyu off. So Mingyu settles for stomping his feet instead, and engaging in some kind of breathing technique that Seungcheol once taught him, to quell his anger.

 

Wonwoo’s so damn entertained, looking at him like he’s some kind of circus act and even popping a prawn cracker in his mouth, and Mingyu is five seconds away from walking out on everything and going home to type up a resignation letter with immediate effect. The plan doesn’t sound too bad, because that would give Mingyu more time to study for the upcoming exams.

 

“Forget this,” Mingyu says pointedly, and he caps the open bottles of vodka with a little more force than necessary. “I’ll teach you the 252 shooter.”

 

“The 252 shooter, yeah,” Wonwoo repeats absentmindedly, probably to prove that he’s listening, but Mingyu is pretty damn sure he isn’t.

 

But he still tries to explain it anyway, because that’s what _a good teacher_ should do.

 

“It’s made with Bacardi 151 and Wild Turkey 101. And, like, if you add those two numbers up, it gives you 252. It’s one of the popular drinks here, so your incompetent ass better know how to prepare it.”

 

There’s no response from Wonwoo this time. Mingyu glances over at him and yeah, just as expected, he’s not listening. Wonwoo’s too busy looking through the cupboards to care.

 

It’s yet another two-ingredients drink, with equal parts per ingredient, so it isn’t supposed to be _this_ difficult to learn… or teach, for that matter. But Wonwoo isn’t listening to a word that Mingyu says, and he’s acting like a three-year-old toddler with a three second attention span. Or maybe he’s channeling the likeness to an annoying, parasitic worm, ‘cause he _is_ annoying and like, worms don’t have any ears either.

 

There’s a strange clicking noise coming from Wonwoo’s direction when Mingyu has his back turned to pick the ingredients up from the liquor shelves. He also returns the vodka bottle (now almost empty, after Wonwoo wasted more than three-thirds of it) to their rightful places.

 

The clicking sounds get more insistent, just what the hell is Wonwoo up to—

 

“Wonwoo, don’t touch that!” Mingyu snatches the butane torch out of the boy’s hands, the one that Mingyu uses to set certain drinks ablaze. Without proper care, Wonwoo could very well set the whole bar on fire. Which, on second thought, though, Mingyu thinks that doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea. But Seungcheol would be heartbroken to see his empire burnt to a crisp, so yeah, no.

 

“Did you even hear what I said about the drink, Wonwoo? You need to learn this one.”

 

“No.” Wonwoo retorts, and that’s the final straw, Mingyu is getting the _fuck_ outta here—

 

“Hola,” Seungcheol bursts through the front door, with Soonyoung and Soonyoung’s friend in tow. Mingyu’s savior has arrived, in the form of a smiley, almost hyperactive boy that goes by the name of Lee Seokmin. Mingyu has only met Seokmin a handful of times, but they both get along really well, because the guy works at the rival bar somewhere down the same street. And if his memory serves him right, Seokmin is pretty darn good at his job too. He even came dressed in his own assigned bartender uniform, his shirt black to match Mingyu’s and Wonwoo’s white. The two bars have been locked in a corporate deathmatch ever since Seungcheol deliberately opened his bar in an area with “established drinkers”, which just so happens to be a three-minute walk away from the one Seokmin works at.

 

It’s as though there are rays of sunlight and sparkles illuminating Seokmin’s entire person, and Mingyu can almost hear a choir singing. _Almost_. Is this what meeting your fairy godmother feels like? Maybe Seokmin can work some magic, drizzle a little pixie dust, and knock some bartending sense into Mingyu’s unwilling, uncooperative student.

 

Mingyu returns the fist-bump that Fairy Godmother gives him, but he has to do a double take when Seokmin fist-bumps _Wonwoo_ too. The actual fuck? How and _why_ is Wonwoo friends with the entire world, except for him?

 

“Yo, my mans— my men— whatever. I’m just stopping by before heading to work. Don’t tell my boss.” Seokmin chirps, and he slides into one of the counter seats, “Could you whip me up a good ol’ Margarita?”

 

Mingyu immediately reaches out for a martini glass to prepare the order, which makes Seokmin perk up from his seat.

 

“Could Wonwoo do it? He made me a mean one yesterday when I dropped by right before closing. Good stuff, good stuff.”

 

Mingyu’s eyes shift to Wonwoo, the same idiot that has been professionally screwing up the simplest of cocktails who is now being praised by a legitimate _bartender,_ and Mingyu calls bullshit.

 

“Him?” Mingyu can’t believe his ears.

 

Neither can he believe his eyes when Wonwoo makes a show of plucking the glass right out of Mingyu’s hands, before proceeding to shake up the right amounts of tequila, Cointreau and lime juice, his fingers no longer fumbling and his workstation no longer being pelted by falling droplets and splashes of alcohol. Wonwoo even knows how to salt the rim of the martini glass, for goodness sake.

 

Mingyu feels played. He glares at his best friend for answers, but Seungcheol shares his look of surprise, staring blankly at the glass Wonwoo carefully sets before his first customer of the day.

 

“Wow, shit,” Seungcheol mumbles in awe. “Wonwoo told me he couldn’t bartend. I was busy packing up yesterday, so like, I thought the drink Seokmin had was prepared by himself.”

 

“I said I wasn’t that good,” Wonwoo clarifies, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before resting his weight on the counter. “I never said I couldn’t.”

 

“Then what the hell were you doing for the past two hours?” Mingyu says agitatedly, and _holy shit,_ he really wants to throw Wonwoo into something painful, preferably the blender.

 

“A teacher’s best mirror is his student.”

 

Mingyu is beyond done with Wonwoo’s games. It’s as though his sole life purpose is to antagonise Mingyu to the best of his abilities, and it is sure as hell working. If Wonwoo is to work here for the rest of his stay, then Mingyu shall be the one who’s quitting. There’s no fucking way he’s going to serve up another—

 

The front door swings open again, but this time, Seungcheol’s _welcoming_ customers into his store with a dashing smile, right in the middle of an argument. A considerable number of people stream into the bar, and Mingyu can already hear orders of drinks being placed. _Two shots of Bourbon. One peach Schnapps._

 

He tells himself not to waver, _not_ to get himself stuck in this bottomless pit with Jeon fucking Wonwoo; but Mingyu’s legs somehow refuse to walk out, and he eventually finds himself sighing as he reaches around the person of his nightmares to grab the shot glasses.

 

He’s probably going to regret this.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

Service goes pretty smoothly. Wonwoo’s too preoccupied in trying to keep up with the constant onslaught of orders to fire up an argument with Mingyu, and Mingyu’s not going to be the first one to engage him.

 

To Wonwoo’s credit, he’s kinda decent, but it _is_ true that the guy’s not that good at being a bartender. His knowledge is limited, and it only extends as far as margaritas and mojitos go. Simple stuff. The quality of Wonwoo’s drinks fall with every new order he has to work on, and Mingyu can see the way Wonwoo hesitates for a split second before he pours any drink into his shaker. His presentation gets sloppier, too, and every so often, a lemon wedge topples off the edge of a glass that Wonwoo’s dutifully preparing.

 

To go with his drinks, Wonwoo is also handing out healthy servings of handsome smiles and flirtatious winks to almost every customer he attends to. He’s obvious eye candy, the sweetener to the bitterness of his drinks, and Mingyu thinks that’s the only reason Wonwoo’s getting away with the shitty job he’s doing, because those cocktails surely couldn’t pass in taste.

 

Mingyu’s minding his own business and having small talk with a customer when he hears an angry shout to his left. His head snaps in the direction of the voice, and he sees Wonwoo frozen in his place, lips parted in obvious surprise.

 

Wonwoo’s customer is a big, burly guy that Mingyu recognises from campus. You know, that one guy on the rugby team who wears only the tightest of clothings to accentuate his muscles, like they’re popping from under the fabric? Yeah, that guy. The dude is obviously drunk, from the way he’s swaying and how his words come out slurred when he says, “This is not what I fucking ordered.”

 

“Oh, sorry,” Wonwoo mumbles, and he hurriedly takes the wrongly-made cocktail off the countertop, pouring it down the sink.

 

Wonwoo’s movements border on frantic as he remakes the order, and Mingyu sees the distressed look on his face when Mr. Big-n-Burly starts cursing Wonwoo out, telling him to _hurry the fuck up._ Looking more like a deer trapped in headlights, it’s blatantly obvious that Wonwoo either has no idea what he’s doing, or he’s suffering from a major brain short-circuit. Mingyu guesses it’s the first.

 

The guy slams a hand down onto the counter, and Wonwoo flinches. The surrounding customers are already beginning to slink away, none of them wanting to risk being hit by a punch went astray.

 

Mingyu doesn’t think twice before he’s brushing Wonwoo out of the way, bumping him aside by the hip. He reaches out for the bottle of rum in the boy’s hands, and for the first time, Wonwoo hands it over with no hesitation. Their fingers brush against each other during the exchange, something that Mingyu immediately takes notice of, but Wonwoo doesn’t comment on the brief moment of contact.

 

“What was his order?”

 

“252 shooter,” Wonwoo says quietly from behind Mingyu.

 

_Of course it is._

 

Mingyu retrieves his phone from his back pocket, and he presses it into Wonwoo’s hands. The clueless look on Wonwoo's face borders on owlish as he holds the phone up for to Mingyu to key in the password.  

 

“Text your cousin to get ready to escort this guy out," Mingyu says, his tone harder than usual.

 

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response from Wonwoo, because Mr. Big-n-Burly is now death-staring the both of them, and Mingyu really doesn’t want to get physical with the guy. Not when he’s a known gymhead that spends most of his free time grinding and deadlifting.

 

“Sorry about the mistake. New guy, doesn’t know what to do yet,” Mingyu says, and he forces out his best smile when he serves up the right order.

 

“Tell your friend,” Mr. Big-n-Burly says, and he pauses mid-sentence to knock back his shot in one go. It’s one of those manly, ego-boosting shots that’s straight up alcoholic with nothing to water it down, and Mingyu internally grimaces when he imagines how badly it must burn the throat. The guy nods his head in Wonwoo’s direction. “He’s lucky now, but he won’t be if he fucks any of my orders up in the future.”

 

“Right,” Mingyu mutters, and he slides the now empty shot glass off the tabletop, before wiping away the tiny puddle of condensation it leaves behind. Seungcheol takes over from there, emerging from the shadows of wherever the hell he was, to escort the customer out of the bar.

 

“Sorry,” comes a muted whisper, and the word sounds foreign in Wonwoo’s voice, because that’s the first time Mingyu has ever received an apology from him. It’s shocking enough to take the words out of Mingyu’s mouth, because he wasn't really expecting Wonwoo to admit his wrongdoings, much less apologise. When Mingyu turns around, the boy is just standing awkwardly to the side, any ounce of bravado long diminished. He looks tiny.

 

Wonwoo is almost sheepish when he holds the phone back out, and Mingyu pockets it away.

 

“Thank you.” Wonwoo breathes, like he still can’t quite wrap his mind around the situation. Now _that's_ another first; Mingyu has never received a genuine thanks from Wonwoo either.

 

It’s stupidly annoying how quickly the anger leaves Mingyu’s system, dissipating into thin air, and leaving behind only mild irritation. It’s almost like he’s trying to scold his pet cat for scratching his new silk curtains, despite having specifically told him not to do so. You can’t stay angry at your pet. At least, that’s what everybody tells Mingyu. He wouldn’t know, he doesn’t own a pet cat. Cats don’t speak Korean.

 

But everyone knows that pets can’t be trained in a day, so Mingyu says, “Are you going to listen to me next time or not?”

 

Wonwoo blinks once, twice. He has that strange look on his face again, and Mingyu wishes he was some kind of mind reader because he has no darn clue what’s running through Wonwoo’s head. Or at the very least, he wishes he could read expressions better, so that he can finally pinpoint just what it is that Wonwoo is feeling. It has been bothering Mingyu to no end.

 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, and they finish up the rest of their work in peace. There’s excited chattering and loud music all around them, but for some strange reason, Mingyu feels that it’s awfully silent. They don’t speak even after the last customer stumbles out the door, neither do they speak when they part ways to return to their respective dorms.

 

Mingyu is in his pyjamas and scrolling through his Instagram newsfeed when he gets a message notification from _croissant,_ who has sent a single poop emoji _._ That’s strange, because Mingyu doesn’t recall having a friend named _croissant,_ neither does he know who the pastry may be. The chat loads to show, sure enough, the group chat Mingyu shares with the rest of the boys, but who the hell is _croissant_ and why the hell is _baguette_ typing up a reply? How did everyone get renamed into assorted breads and pastries when Mingyu has been the only one who— Oh. _Oh._ It’s only then does Mingyu realise that Wonwoo has very graciously switched up a good number of the contact names in his phone.

  
Mingyu sighs. _Fuck me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone wants to guess the identity of croissant and baguette? the grand prize shall be Bragging Rights™
> 
> this has been my favourite chapter so far, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> let me know what you think! thank you for reading, have a good rest of the week ♡


	6. Chapter 6

“Apologise.”

 

Wonwoo keeps his mouth shut. Maybe Seungcheol would miraculously forget he’s there if Wonwoo stays still enough, keeps quiet enough.

 

“Apologise.”

 

Guess not. Worth a try. Wonwoo ignores him and packs his laptop back into its sleeve, because Plan B is to pretend Seungcheol’s simply not there, because _if I can’t see you, you can’t see me._

 

“Jeon Wonwoo, even babies know how to apologise. I’m going to tell the world that you’re rooming with me illegally if you don’t apologise to Mingyu.”

 

Wonwoo snorts. A stunt like that would get Seungcheol and Hansol’s asses into bubbling hot soup too, so he’s not too worried about it.

 

“I will tell Mingyu what you said about him being c—”

 

_Fuck, now that’s something to worry about._

 

Wonwoo snatches a pillow off his bed and sends it flying into Seungcheol’s face. It does the trick.

 

“I’ve apologised to him already,” Wonwoo snaps, “so shut up.”

 

“But did you apologise for messing with his contacts? He told me I was renamed _croissant_. I don’t even like croissants, you should’ve named me _eclair_. Why does Jeonghan get to be the eclair?”

 

Wonwoo doesn’t have an answer to that. He didn’t mean any harm, not maliciously, anyway. The number of Mingyu’s contacts he’d played switcheroo with couldn’t have been more than five or six. A little prank hurts nobody, and Wonwoo doesn’t expect it to matter that much.

 

Mingyu will most certainly survive having five of his contacts renamed into pastries, so why does Wonwoo feel like an awful person for doing it anyway?

 

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Mingyu not only saved Wonwoo’s stupid, complacent ass from an angry, drunk customer; he’s still _willing_ to teach that same complacent ass in the future after all the deliberate fuckery during Mingyu’s lesson, and actually fucking up on the job.

 

Wonwoo thinks Mingyu is either too tolerant of crazy, or crazily tolerant, or a mix of both. There’s no reason for Mingyu to be so nice to him, and it bothers Wonwoo. Not Mingyu’s kindness and patience, no, but his own lack thereof.

 

He wouldn’t have goofed off if he’d known the other boy was going to take the hit for him, because now Wonwoo just feels like an asshole. Which he is— Wonwoo knows he’s been nothing but annoying— but it was kinda justified by the fact that Mingyu was being an ass too.

 

Now he just feels like an _unjustified_ asshole. That feeling sucks.

 

What happened to that Mingyu who punched him, who called him an outsider, who lost him in the school on the first day? Y’know, that Asshole Mingyu.

 

“Well? Aren’t you sorry?”

 

Wonwoo jumps at the voice. He’s so caught up in his head that he manages to forget that Seungcheol’s there, but unfortunately, that doesn’t make him invisible to his cousin. _Just because you can’t see him, doesn’t mean he can’t see you._ Plan B sucks.

 

“I _am_ sorry. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew what was going to happen.”

 

The look in Seungcheol’s eyes softens, and Wonwoo is terrified that somehow, _somehow,_ his cousin had managed to read his mind.

 

“Then apologise.” Seungcheol insists, “Not everyone wants to fight you, Wonwoo, you’re in a different school now. You gotta let loose. This is way past the point of self-defense and now you’re just being a dick.”

 

All the fear drains out of Wonwoo’s body, and annoyance starts to fill its place. The words tick something off in him, and he feels his jaw clench the slightest. Wonwoo has made it crystal clear that Seungcheol isn’t even allowed to mention this topic, so why the hell is he letting his mouth run loose? Wonwoo doesn’t appreciate anyone coming for his sore points, be it family or not.

 

“You can just text him now, and he’d wake up tomorrow to a lovely little apology. Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Hansol butts in from across the room, but his voice is a little wary. “I’ll send you his number, bro.”

 

There’s no way out of this one, and Wonwoo feels the weight on his shoulders get infinitely heavier when he reaches out for his phone on the table.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

It’s too early for Mingyu to be up on a Sunday.

 

He checks his phone for the time— it’s _9:15_. Mingyu has to meet Hansol this morning, and that’s probably a whole three hours shaved off of his sleep-in Sunday tradition.

 

The reminder that reads _meet chwe @ ten thirty_ sits at the top of his notifications, and, tucked right beneath it, is a message that had been sent in the dead of the night from an unknown number. Mingyu briefly wonders if Wonwoo had deleted some of the contacts off his phone, because that is a new level of low.

 

 _Hey Mingyu. Sorry about what I did yesterday, I didn’t mean for it to go that far,_ reads the message, simple and brief.

 

Too simple, maybe, because Mingyu doesn’t understand it. Who’s it even from?

 

He replays the whole incident in his mind— all the wasted alcohol, Seokmin’s almost god-like visit, Big-n-Burly customer’s big and burly tantrum, and _Wonwoo._ No, forget Wonwoo. Mingyu still hasn’t figured out who the hell _eclair_ is, even after spending an hour trying to get his phone contacts back in order.

 

That’s an hour of his life wasted. It would help if his good-for-nothing friends stopped finding amusement in the prank, though.

 

_ > wait, so what’s my name now? _

 

_Eclair < _

_So who the hell are you < _

 

_ > eclair, i like it _

_ > bitch can’t u read it says i’m eclair _

 

Mingyu’s friends suck.

 

And so does the asshole that gave Mingyu’s number out to a complete stranger. Apology aside, Mingyu thinks this could be classified as a serious case of stranger danger. There’s no telling how _Big-n-Burly_ managed to get Mingyu’s number; they don’t even have mutual friends.

 

Mingyu can’t even say for _sure_ that this is Big-n-Burly on the other side of the screen, apologising for the shit that went down last night, but there’s really no one else that it could be. Right?

 

Profile pictures are of no help, because the picture is nothing but a cute kitten frolicking amongst garden flowers. Mingyu doesn’t peg Big-n-Burly as a kitty lover— the exact opposite, really, but who is he to judge?

 

Mingyu doesn’t feel the need to reply, so he doesn’t. Mingyu’s not about to become unlikely friends with a gymhead with dubious alcohol control and zero anger management skills. No bartender should befriend a volatile customer who could potentially wreck havoc in his bar.

 

Granted, none of this would’ve even happened if a certain Jeon Wonwoo had listened in the first place. But for some strange, inexplicable reason, Mingyu’s finding it a little hard to stay mad at him. He hates himself for it, because if anyone is to be sorry, it should be _Wonwoo_. Yeah, he would really appreciate a proper apology from the guy, because that soft-ass whisper of one back in the bar hardly counts. _Yeah, screw Wonwoo._

 

Mingyu is just glad he doesn’t have to see him for the rest of the day, because that just gives him more time to convince himself that he’s angry.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

Now, Hansol _may_ be someone who struggles making a cereal bowl for breakfast, and he _may_ be someone who confuses desiccant packets for food seasoning but _damn_ anyone who doesn’t acknowledge that Hansol is a god at math. Majoring in Mathematics, Hansol dreams to be a college math professor one day. Mingyu isn’t sure if the Ministry of Education would even hire Hansol based on his personality alone— no kid should be taught to possess or embody the mentality of Chwe Hansol— but he’s basically a talking calculator with legs, so there’s still a mild possibility.

 

And that possibility is all Mingyu needs to _beg_ Hansol to attempt to tutor him, because finals are coming full-speed for Kim Mingyu’s uneducated ass, and he already feels a big-ass fire burning under it.

 

It’s two weeks to the big exam, and with one of them taken up by study break, Mingyu’s in a state of deep panic. There’s definitely not enough time for Mingyu to pull his grade up to a miraculous A or anything, but all he really needs is to pass. Mingyu swears he’ll turn over a new leaf and work harder in Year Three, but that’s with the generous assumption that he doesn’t get himself expelled first. Man, Mingyu is so screwed.

 

To Hansol’s credit, he has tried tutoring Mingyu before, but that was all the way back in the first few years of high school, back when Mingyu was fighting a losing battle with algebra. Hansol had sworn never to tutor him again, but Mingyu figures there’s no shame in asking.

 

They meet at a pretentious little cafe down the street, because Hansol has a craving for his favourite artisan donut, a really fancy one with pistachio buttercream filling and two coats of homemade strawberry glaze. Hansol has the willpower of a pea, and any cravings have to be satisfied before he is able to get even the smallest of tasks done.

 

“Oh, right, dude!” Hansol perks up mid-bite of his breakfast, and he projects chewed-up bits of donut out of his mouth with every word he speaks. “I just remembered. Did you receive the apology message?”

 

Mingyu frowns in confusion. The message is still sitting quietly in his inbox, unopened but not forgotten. Mingyu hasn’t told anyone about the apology, so how would Hansol know of its existence, unless…

 

“So _you_ were the traitor that gave my number to a stranger?”

 

“No. Well, yeah. I mean.” It’s Hansol’s turn to frown, and his eyebrows knit together so tightly, it almost looks painful. “I gave him your number, but he isn’t a _stranger._ Why didn’t you reply though, it’s making him feel—”

 

“What do you mean, _he isn’t a stranger.”_

 

“But, that’s Won—”

 

“Well, I don’t know him.” Mingyu interrupts, and he has to remind himself not to be annoyed if he is to get Hansol’s help. “I don’t associate with anyone who’s _that_ irresponsible and thickheaded. Why are you even friends with him?”

 

“Ow, that’s so harsh, wait till I tell him what you just said.” Hansol mimics a stab to his heart, but he drops the subject. “Forget it. What was it you needed help with?”

 

“Calculus, what else?” Mingyu laments, and he slides his assignments over to Hansol, who picks it up.

 

There’s a brief moment of silence as Hansol flips through the worksheets, before the stack of paper is sent flying across the table and Mingyu very nearly jumps out of his seat at the sudden movement.

 

There’s the crunch of paper crumpling under its weight as the worksheets land back on Mingyu’s side of the table, and Mingyu gives himself a mental pat on his back for having the intuition to bind the papers together. It’s still flipped to the page that Hansol had so violently rejected, and there it is— the chicken scratch Mingyu proudly calls his handwriting, the pink and purple highlighting that goes way out of line (and even across the paper, Mingyu must’ve dozed off a little over there), and the half-assed doodles of farm animals with heads too big for their bodies— in all its glory. Hansol makes a gagging sound so loud, he has eighty-percent of the cafe glancing in their general direction.

 

“You know I'm CDO,” Hansol says, prodding at Mingyu’s stack of worksheets with a finger in sheer disbelief, “that's OCD in alphabetical order.”

 

“How are you going to be a teacher, if you can’t stand messy handwriting?” Mingyu protests, “And, dude, my handwriting isn’t even _that_ bad.”

 

Hansol shakes his head apologetically, and the rejection weighs heavy in Mingyu’s stomach. He's really _so fucking screwed,_ because who else can Mingyu go to for help in calculus? There's no other person—

 

“Dude, why not just ask Wonwoo? And while you’re at it, maybe you can both get to know each other more. You guys won’t be _strangers_ any longer.”

 

_What?_

 

Mingyu thinks Hansol must be as dense as the half-eaten donut in his hands.

 

“Hansol, Wonwoo _hates_ me,” Mingyu says pointedly, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. It kinda is, anyway.

 

“He doesn't hate you, my dude.” Hansol gives him a slap on the back, one that’s supposed to be reassuring. It’s not. “He’s just a little more hostile when it comes to tall idiots with _irresistible_ smiles.”

 

“What are you even trying to say?”

 

“Nothing,” Hansol sniffs. “Anyway, I think he’d make a better teacher than I would.”

 

“You literally major in math _and_ teaching?”

 

“That’s besides the point, Mingyu.”

 

Hansol shoves the remaining quarter of his donut into his mouth and dusts his hands free of crumbs. “Why do you suddenly want tutoring anyway?”

 

Mingyu doesn’t think Hansol could’ve ever asked a more glaringly obvious question, even if he tried.

 

“Because,” Mingyu sighs, “I’m gonna get my test paper back tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure I failed that shit. And the final is two weeks away, I don’t think I can even make it to graduation if I don’t at least pass my calculus.”

 

“Aw man, that sucks for you,” Hansol laments, and he claps a not-so-helpful hand on Mingyu’s shoulder.

 

“ _Your_ finals are two weeks away too, dude. Everyone takes finals.”

 

“Shit, _no_.” Hansol’s eyes widen in horror, and they’re almost the size of the donuts being served warm at the counter. “Why the hell are we still sitting here?”

 

Hansol jumps out of his seat, and in his haste, bumps his knee hard against the bottom of the table. Mingyu watches in disbelief as his friend recoils in pain; everyone and their mothers are looking, and he’s so embarrassed.

 

Mingyu sorts his papers into a neat stack with two quick sweeps of his hand, and promptly drags Hansol out of the cafe, in the name of everlasting friendship and self-preservation.

 

“I think I broke something,” Hansol cries as he hops out the door on one foot, and it really makes Mingyu wonder how his friend could possibly have a mental age any older than four, and yet be top of the dean's list.

 

“The only thing that’s broken is your brain.”

 

“Oh,” Hansol says, and he sets his foot back down on the ground, jogging on the spot to test for the integrity and durability of his legs. “Shit, they work! Thanks, man. You need to become a doctor or something.”

 

Mingyu slouches his shoulders. He thinks he needs to _see_ a doctor for the permanent headache his friends and Life gives him. The fatigue must show on Mingyu’s face, because Hansol gives him three pats on his back.

 

“Don’t worry, my dude. Who knows, miracles can happen, and like, you somehow pass the test?”

 

Hansol gives him an encouraging smile, a sincere one that Mingyu hasn’t seen from anyone in a really long time, and it makes him feel warm and comforted. It’s good to know that no matter how hard he crash-lands and fucks up in every academical aspect of life, at least he’s rich in the friendship department.

 

Mingyu lets himself believe in miracles just for a moment. All he has to do is prove to the teachers that he has a talent for calculus that he might not know that he might have, but he sure as hell hopes he does.

 

Maybe the grass is greener on the other side.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

The F on Mingyu’s paper seems more glaringly red than the previous ones, but that’s probably just in his head. Or not.

 

Screw Hansol for getting his hopes up.

 

Maybe the reason the grass seems greener on the other side is because Mingyu’s not over there fucking it up.

 

Mingyu doesn’t have to even flip through his answers to know that the crosses decorate every inch of the paper, scratched in red ink. There’s a _see me!_ written in cursive on the top right corner of the front page, and Mingyu can see his professor giving him the stink eye from the opposite end of the room.

 

“How did you do?” Wonwoo’s head pops into his personal space, and he’s craning his neck to take a peep at Mingyu’s marks. The asshole doesn’t even bother trying to be discreet about it, and Mingyu snatches his paper to his chest, but no matter how quick he tries to be, Wonwoo is quicker.

 

“Oh,” Wonwoo says quietly, and he leans away to sit back properly in his chair. Mingyu’s peripheral vision grants him direct sight of the test paper clasped between Wonwoo’s fingers, and there’s an A written right at the top. The professor even drew him a star; who _does_ that in university, especially when the professor that’s awarding the damn star is as ancient as one himself?

 

Wonwoo’s paper barely has any red on it, apart from three of those big-ass ticks that indicate an entire page is correct. The only mistake Wonwoo made is so impossibly minor, it couldn’t have costed him any more than three marks. Error-carried-forward is a bitch to many, but not to Wonwoo.

 

The paper is immediately flipped over, and Mingyu can’t analyse it any further. Wonwoo obstructs his view even further by sprawling his arms across the table. Now that’s strange, because Mingyu fully expects Wonwoo to be waving the A at his face instead, or at the very least, say something mean about his lacking calculus abilities.

 

Wonwoo does neither, and he remains silent for the remainder of the lesson as the professor reviews the answers. Not that the silence helps or anything.

 

It just helps Mingyu fall asleep.

 

When Wonwoo wakes him up later with a single kick of his foot, their classmates have already begun to pack up and leave. But Mingyu is in no hurry, not when he has a date with the professor.

 

The movement coming from beside Mingyu pauses, and he can definitely feel Wonwoo’s eyes trained on him. Mingyu makes a quick glance over, and he can almost see the question in Wonwoo’s eyes when the boy quirks an eyebrow at him. _Why aren’t you packing?_

 

Instead, Wonwoo says, “I will leave you behind if you’re not gonna pack.”

 

So be it. Nobody said they have to go everywhere together anyway. It has been over a week since Wonwoo first arrived, and he doesn’t need Mingyu to babysit him anymore.

 

“Are you still mad at me about what happened at the bar? You’ve been ignoring me ever since then.”

 

It’s true. Not that they are on friendly-talking-terms in the first place, but Mingyu hasn’t said anything more than two whole sentences to Wonwoo ever since the latter slid into the seat beside him this morning. It’s nothing personal, Mingyu is just a baby who sucks at dealing with stress and Life. Also, he’s supposed to be mad at Wonwoo or something, so there’s that.

 

Mingyu _would_ clarify, but he doesn’t think Wonwoo would care.

 

“Are you mad because I looked at your paper?” Wonwoo tries again, and Mingyu tells himself to _ignore, ignore, ignore_ the way the boy’s shoulders have slumped a centimetre or two at the lack of any response.

 

Wonwoo resumes his packing, his actions hurried and a little more forceful as he shoves his laptop into his bag. It makes Mingyu bite his tongue— way to go, he has probably pissed Wonwoo off yet _again_. Nothing new there.

 

Their professor is sitting comfortably in his chair, at the teacher’s table towards the front of the classroom, and he’s looking at Mingyu expectantly. All of Mingyu’s mental warfare is thrown out of the window the moment his professor clicks his tongue and gestures him over, and now Mingyu really just wants to punch the old critter.

 

Wonwoo notices this, of course he does, and his eyes flit back and forth between Mingyu and their professor, eyebrows raised in curiosity. He’s the last one out the door, and only when Wonwoo starts making a move does Mingyu get up from his seat to make the shameful walk over to the teacher’s table.

 

Being called out and held back after class is nothing new, he tells himself, don’t be so disappointed. It’s easier said than done though, and every step Mingyu takes is slow and torturous.

 

Mingyu belatedly realises that he still has that weird, goosebumps-inducing feeling he gets whenever Wonwoo stares him the fuck down, and his head instinctively snaps in the direction of the door. Sure enough, Wonwoo is paused mid-step by the doorway, and he immediately averts his eyes when both their gazes meet, but not before Mingyu catches the look of surprise in them.

 

“Sit down, Mingyu.”

 

Mingyu jumps at the voice and whips around, and he’s feeling so tense, like a overly-wounded up wind-up toy. That's a lot of winding. The professor’s looking at him like he’s got a screw loose, which, is also nothing new, but maybe it’s valid, Mingyu _does_ kinda feel like he’s going to fall apart at the limbs.

 

When Mingyu glances back in Wonwoo’s direction, the boy is not there anymore. But there’s a familiar shadow now outside the classroom.

 

“Am I at the door, Mingyu?” his professor demands, and Mingyu rolls his eyes so hard he probably saw his brain. Every minute spent alone with his professor probably shaves a good twenty-four hours off of Mingyu’s entire lifespan, and he estimates his death to be brought forward thirty days sooner than before.

 

Wonwoo isn’t there anymore when Mingyu finally stumbles out that hell of a classroom, but there _is_  an empty seat next to him when Mingyu walks in late for the next lecture.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

Mingyu meets Jisoo after classes end. It’s something he does every day, save on Tuesdays, so that he actually gets some studying done. They don’t share the same courses, but Jisoo’s mainly there to babysit. It's a routine that had been established to save Mingyu’s grade (and his placement in the school) right before their very first finals— Jisoo was disciplined enough to study, and Mingyu needed to discipline himself by studying with Jisoo— but it somehow stuck all the way into their third year. Jeonghan comes by occasionally, but not really, because he prefers to study in the dead silence of the library.

 

He isn’t really in the mood for studying today, or let alone _anything,_ not after receiving a failing grade for the umpteenth time and getting chided by his professor. But Mingyu hasn’t met up with Jisoo ever since Wonwoo started classes and needed a tour guide, so he’s way behind time in his revision. Since he’s already promised his friend over text to show up, Mingyu doesn’t have a choice when he makes his way over to the small student-manned café hidden away in west wing of the campus. _New week, new Mingyu._

 

It’s run by the visual art majors as some kind of entrepreneurial side-module, but it’s really just another platform to express their “calling”. Somewhere along the twenty-five potted cacti by the windows and vintage cash registers, the students have transformed the shop into a showroom for interior design. Their furnishing is pretty much always on point, and Jisoo says it speaks to his inner aesthetic.

 

Jisoo is there first, and he beckons Mingyu over with a wave, patting the empty seat beside him expectantly. Mingyu’s eyes catches on the back view of a boy seated opposite Jisoo, and he’s beginning to feel that something is off. Mingyu knows Jeonghan has an important psychology project due today, so he’s probably cramming his work in the west library; plus, the bed of fluffy black hair certainly does not belong to his friend. It’s strange that there’s someone else sharing their table when there are loads of others to choose from. Hunched over worksheets as his hand makes quick work with a pen, Mingyu doesn’t know anyone in his circle of friends that’s _that_ hardworking.

 

Mingyu keeps his eyes trained on the intruder as he rounds the table, and he nearly has a heart attack when he realises that, wrapped up in a hoodie a pretty shade of apricot with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sitting lowly on the bridge of his nose, is Wonwoo.

 

They had silently parted ways after the last lesson of the day, and Mingyu swears he even _saw_ the dude walk off in the direction of the dorms. So why the hell is Wonwoo sitting here, like nothing is out of the ordinary and everything’s completely normal?

 

The atmosphere is ever so subtly tense, and Jisoo picks up on it immediately— the guy has some kind of invisible, hypersensitive antennas on the top of his head that can detect microscopic changes in atmospheric pressure, or some shit— so he says, “Good that you're here, man. Three’s a party!”

 

“I thought the saying was, three’s a crowd?” Wonwoo says, more a statement than a question as he scribbles a string of numbers down onto the paper. His eyes don’t leave the worksheet.

 

“Yeah, so why don't you go away?” Mingyu replies, but his words are half-hearted.

 

“Or I could go away!” Jisoo volunteers himself and waves his arms around in the air in a bid to shut them up. Genius, Mingyu doesn't know how Jisoo came to the conclusion that leaving them alone is the favourable way to prevent an argument.

 

“I've got to meet Jeonghan in ten minutes anyway. Lucky ducky, Wonwoo’s here to keep you company!” Jisoo starts shovelling his books into his bag, but not before stealing another bite of Wonwoo’s blueberry cheesecake.

 

“Play nice,” he warns, and Mingyu feels awfully betrayed as he watches Jisoo disappear around the corner, as if his friend just served him up on a shiny, silver platter and offered him to a starving wolf.

 

Mingyu belatedly realises that he’s not breathing. He’s painfully aware of his existence and really wants to shrink into his seat. Wonwoo’s going to ask about what happened back in class. Mingyu’s not going to tell him. They’re going to argue again and strangle each other to death—

 

“Do you need help with calculus?” Wonwoo’s voice is quiet, and Mingyu nearly misses it amongst the incessant screaming noises in his head.

 

Mingyu is completely thrown off by the offer, at the groundbreaking realisation that Wonwoo is actually being _nice_. He opens his mouth to say something, but ends up looking like a stupid fish out of water when he struggles to reply.

 

“Uh.” Mingyu fights the compelling urge to march his ass out of the cafe. “No. I’ll figure things out.”

 

He gets a snort in response, and Mingyu wants to feel offended.

 

“Okay, Mingyu.”

 

With that, Wonwoo turns back to writing his own notes. Mingyu’s gaze lingers on him for several moments more, but Wonwoo doesn’t return it. So much for being nice.

 

Twenty minutes later, and Mingyu desperately wishes he had taken up Wonwoo on his offer.

 

Wonwoo has now settled for blatantly watching Mingyu attempt to solve the same question he has been stuck on for the whole time they have been sitting here. Wonwoo’s chin rests comfortably in his palm, and he’s propped up by his elbows, eyelashes ghosting across his cheeks as he looks down at Mingyu’s empty paper. It’s not exactly _empty,_  Mingyu wouldn’t use such a strong word— it’s more of, Mingyu has since erased every single one of his workings, because they are all wrong. The pencil marks are still faintly visible if Mingyu looks closely, so it’s _not_ empty _._

 

Mingyu wishes Wonwoo would stop staring, because it’s seriously messing with his thought process right now. His hands are even getting clammy around his pencil, and he must’ve unconsciously pressed a little too hard against his paper, because the tip of his pencil breaks.

 

 _Fuck fuck fuck._ Mingyu hates the world and the world hates him back. He doesn’t bother asking for permission when he snatches at the pen Wonwoo was previously using (but placed down on the table the very moment he decided to go Mingyu-watching instead), much to said pen owner’s amusement.

 

 _It’s okay, try again,_ Mingyu tries to convince himself, but then he’s using the wrong damn formula on the wrong damn equation, and the remainder of Mingyu’s perseverance goes to shit.

 

Wonwoo catches on his mistake. “You’re pretty bad at this.”

 

Mingyu is used to Wonwoo's remarks by now, but perhaps it's the shitty feeling of fatigue he’s has from a equally shitty day, and perhaps it’s because _nothing ever goes right,_ that the comment hits harder than it should have.

 

Mingyu is miserable when he tries to erase his mistakes again, only to realise that this time, he’s written everything in pen. It’s really not too big of a deal, but to Mingyu, it’s fucking earth-shattering. Even the single, teeny tiny bit of eraser dust that falls off the rubber seems to be laughing at him. Great.

 

“Mingyu, stop—” Wonwoo starts, but Mingyu simply ignores him.

 

He makes a grab for his pencil case to fish for his stupid correction tape, but Wonwoo had strategically positioned it earlier on to act as a paper weight, and Mingyu now watches dejectedly as his worksheets take their time to float onto the floor. Oh, _now that’s just fucking with him._

 

Mingyu’s vision blurs and what the hell, are those _tears_ he feels stinging at his eyes? Sure, Mingyu could simply just reach over and pick up the fallen sheets of paper, but it’s the last straw in an already taxing day. He _really_ doesn’t want to be a baby about it, but it’s hard when he’s the human personification of Murphy’s Law.

 

“Mingyu?”

 

There it is, Wonwoo has noticed the tears and he’s never going to let him live it down. Mingyu is screwed. Mingyu’s life is over. Mingyu’s future has gone to shit.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Mingyu’s head jerks up at the question, and when his vision refocuses, Wonwoo is looking more surprised than anything else, without a single trace of malice present in his features. There's a moment of hesitation before he reaches out to touch Mingyu by the wrist, and by reflex, Mingyu rips his hand away.

 

But Wonwoo tries again. “Sorry, man. Didn't mean to make you upset.”

 

 _It’s not you,_ Mingyu wants to say, but Wonwoo's voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and it makes Mingyu’s heart flop over in his chest. It’s a foreign feeling, and it immediately scares Mingyu just how _soothing_ it is. He’s so confused— the Wonwoo he's familiar with would've taken the opportunity to laugh at him, maybe say a word or two to poke at his already fragile masculinity, and not stopping until he sends it crumbling into a million, unrepairable pieces.

 

“Look. I’ll tutor you,” Wonwoo mumbles, and it is anything but convincing; the sentence even ends in a rising intonation, making it sound more or a question than anything else. Even Wonwoo seems unsure of himself. Alarms are sounding in his head and Mingyu is giving himself all the reasons in the world to be doubtful— maybe this is just an elaborate tactic for Wonwoo to show off his obvious superiority in intelligence?

 

“For real,” Wonwoo says again, and this time he gives Mingyu a smile, a _proper_ smile, one that even has his nose scrunching in the slightest of ways.

 

Mingyu is dumbfounded. At the offer, or maybe at the smile, or both. Whatever.

 

Wonwoo doesn't owe Mingyu anything just because his feelings have decided to be overly-sensitive snowflakes today, so why is he offering to tutor Mingyu?

 

Mingyu struggles to come up with an intelligent, epiphany-esque reasoning that could explain Wonwoo’s sudden goodwill, but he fails to land anything insightful. He doesn’t know how to respond to the offer, so he simply doesn’t. But Wonwoo takes silence as consent, because he takes the test paper from Mingyu and starts working on it anyway.

 

They're quiet after that, minus the scratching of pen against paper and the rhythmic tapping of Wonwoo’s fingers against the calculator as he attempts to rework the answers to Mingyu’s test.

 

Mingyu doesn’t really have anything better to do, so he watches as the other works. Wonwoo looks mildly annoyed while solving the equations, his brows drawn in a frown. Plus, he chews on his pen cap when he’s thinking.

 

Once in a while, Wonwoo catches him staring, their eyes meeting for no more than a second before a panicked Mingyu adverts his gaze and is left to wallow in his embarrassment, cheeks burning up. But maybe that’s just from the cafe’s heater or something, because he swears that Wonwoo’s cheeks are pink too. The air around them is a little uncomfortable.

 

There’s a strange feeling in Mingyu’s chest, one that’s unfamiliar, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, and it worries him. It’s not the time to fall sick, not when it’s less than two weeks away from finals.

 

Wonwoo is picking out the mistakes of the last question when Mingyu decides to excuse himself.

 

“Oh,” Wonwoo says. “Leave your paper with me. I’ll finish up, and we can go through it tomorrow? I can go over, or something. Else, you could come to my room?”

 

“Mine. Junhui won’t be home.”

 

The sentence comes out just a little too suggestive, and Wonwoo obviously thinks so too, because the atmosphere is chilly. There hasn’t been any time for awkwardness when they’ve been busy going after each other’s throats, and it just feels weird to be arranging friendly meetings with a not-so-friendly friend.

 

They’re not even friends, Mingyu reminds himself. Not yet, at least.

 

“O—kay.”

 

Wonwoo seems to cringe at himself when he says, “Text me if you need help. Or not, it’s whatever. But you can.”

 

“But I don’t have your number.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Mingyu stares. “Why would I have it?”

 

The uncomfortableness in the air dissipates the very moment Wonwoo gives him a condescending and displeased look, because _that’s_ something familiar. But this time, Mingyu doesn’t know what he has done to deserve such a look.

 

“Right,” Wonwoo answers, a beat too slow, and he turns back to Mingyu’s worksheet.

 

“I don’t have it,” Mingyu repeats, but he’s confused and probably falling sick. Wonwoo’s reaction is uncalled for, and his tone comes off a smidgen too sarcastic.

 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything back, only tears off a corner of his paper to jot down a string of numbers, before handing it over to Mingyu.

 

“See you tomorrow,” he says, and Mingyu knows that’s the end of the conversation, so he takes his things and leaves.

 

Mingyu keys Wonwoo’s number into his phone on his way back to the dorm. He doesn’t notice it immediately, but there’s a pre-existing chat box under Wonwoo’s name when Mingyu loads up his messages.

 

There is no way.

 

But there’s the unmistakable profile picture of a kitten now tied to Wonwoo’s contact, and Mingyu can see the preview of the unopened message still in his inbox, and his heart sinks when he finally realises his mistake.

 

_Hey Mingyu. Sorry for what I did yesterday, I didn’t mean for it to go that far._

 

Mingyu feels like an idiot. They only seem to ever run around in circles, like cats and dogs stuck in an endless, _stupidly_ competitive game of tag.

 

They’re both sore losers and there’s no real winner, because whenever one of them _finally_ starts to see sense— starts to see that _Tom and Jerry_ isn’t the game they should be playing as they skirt around each other in a fragile truce— the other just torments him into yet another lap of brainless chasing and pursuit.

 

It all seems obvious now. Mingyu finally understands, knows where he has went wrong, and knows what to do to make things right again. He shouldn’t have assumed the worst of Wonwoo. Big-n-Burly who?

 

Yes. _Yes._

 

Mingyu starts typing up his reply, fingers determined and every tap full of purpose. The message is way too many hours overdue, but he _has_ to do this. This is the best way for Mingyu to finally put an end to this fighting, this is the best solution for a proper truce. It’s now or never. With a newfound sense of determination, Mingyu presses _send._

 

_Hey Wonwoo what kind of cookies do you like?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mimgyu and wonwoo finally being civil towards each other? yes, a miracle. thank you for putting up with wonwoo's nonsense till now
> 
> an overdue chapter update
> 
> hope everyone has been enjoying their july, and will continue to do so!
> 
> let me know what you think in the comments! thank you for reading ♡


	7. Chapter 7

“You baked cookies,” Wonwoo says for the fourth time in a row, voice as deadpan as the first. It’s the first time he’s ever set foot into Mingyu’s apartment, but he’s still standing in his winter coat by the doorway, frozen in place and unwilling to move. It’s a fucking milestone to Mingyu, okay? And milestones should always be celebrated with cookies.

 

“Yes,” Mingyu nearly snarls, because he’s tired of repeating himself and he wants to get past this topic already. The cookies are deadass on the coffee table and right before their damn eyes. Come on, it’s been ten minutes.

 

Even if the glasses on Wonwoo’s face were to be covered with snow or fogged up or something, Mingyu is sure that stupid nose of his should at least be able to _smell_ the scent of baked discs of deliciousness. What is a nose any good for, otherwise? Even the noseless Voldemort couldn’t have been indifferent to a cookie or two, right? Or perhaps Wonwoo’s nose isn’t even functional to begin with.

 

“What for?”

 

Mingyu is mere seconds away from taping Wonwoo's mouth over with duct tape, because his questions are a whole lot invasive and Mingyu’s privacy feels a whole lot threatened. Although, in retrospect, it _is_ more than just a little darn weird that Mingyu even has a batch of freshly baked cookies ready for Wonwoo’s arrival, especially when _they are not friends yet._

 

Wonwoo probably thinks Mingyu is trying to poison the life out of him.

 

“You said you liked chocolate chip cookies,” Mingyu says. He crosses his arms over his chest and poises himself against the counter in an effort to remain casual, but even he knows it’s not convincing.

 

Wonwoo lets out an ugly snort. “Yes, but I thought you were just making small talk.”

 

That makes sense. In Mingyu’s most charitable of opinions, though, their ‘small talk’ went fairly well. Texting Wonwoo is not much different from speaking to him in person— the boy likes proper punctuation, complete sentences, and is straight to the point. It’s nearly impossible to decipher the tone in which Wonwoo’s messages are supposed to come across, but Mingyu lets himself believe that there’s no animosity between them. Wonwoo did reply quickly enough between replies, and to his credit, Mingyu did feel rather humoured.

 

 _Hey Wonwoo what kind of cookies do you like?_ <

 

_ > Hi, Mingyu. Choco chip. Why? _

 

_Do you like soft or hard cookies < _

 

_ > Soft, I guess. You didn’t answer the question? _

 

_Cool <_

_Hey do you bake? < _

 

_ > No, Mingyu. _

 

 _Oh_ <

Okay, so maybe it could’ve went better.

 

But at the very least, Mingyu now knows Jeon Wonwoo’s favourite type of cookie and that he is not that much of a baker. That’s a thing only friends would know, right? Right? Or at the very least, it has to be the tiny seeds of friendship that would soon blossom and bloom into something beautiful. Something beautiful like, let’s say, a perpetual ten-feet wall between the two of them and a mutual agreement to never speak of this again.

 

Who knows, maybe chocolate chip cookies can become their symbol of peace and a monument of their friendship.

 

Mingyu even added extra chocolate chips on top, _just_ for Wonwoo. He even took the effort to make the twenty-minute walk to the grocery store, in the negative temperatures, because they’d run out of brown sugar. Junhui has been mistakenly mixing it into his daily coffee.

 

He slipped once on his walk back to the dorms, and his previously pristine screen protector now bares a bunch of ugly battle scars. Plus, the cashier at the grocery store had been a mean old lady who overcharged him by fifty cents. Mingyu has been dragged through the sloppiest, dirtiest, muddiest mud and back _just_ for Wonwoo to get cookies. While it’s arguable that nobody but himself told him to bake them in the first place, Mingyu is still upset at the possibility of his efforts going to waste.

 

“Do I need a reason to bake you cookies? Leave if you don’t want any.”

 

“No, I’ll take it,” Wonwoo says, and he takes a cookie from the tray. He picks the one at the corner of the tray, the one that’s a little rough around the edges and shaped oddly like a pickle. Mingyu feels a fleeting moment of panic, but he quickly extinguishes the little part of him worrying himself stupid that the cookies won’t be to the other boy’s liking. He’d baked these for a reason, for a greater good. Who cares whether Wonwoo likes them or not?

 

It’s time to put his plan into action.

 

“Put that in your mouth,” Mingyu announces, “ and you can’t hate me anymore.”

 

Wonwoo doesn’t even bother indulging him. “What are we, five?”

 

“We are a pair of feuding twenty-one-year-olds trying to settle our petty-ass problems in a sensible manner.” Mingyu says, and while his voice is firm, he dares not meet Wonwoo’s eyes. “So, either hate me, or eat the fucking cookie.”

 

Wonwoo examines the cookie in his hands almost contemplatively, as if the very thought of taking a bite is the hardest decision in the world. That in itself is offensive, because it means that befriending Mingyu is possibly no better than a cookie, and that hurts in a way Mingyu never thought it could. Kinda like a rash.

 

Finally, Wonwoo says, “I don’t hate you— kinda.”

 

“So… you almost hate me.”

 

“Or, I almost like you. Take it as you will.”

 

With that, Wonwoo shoves the cookie into his mouth in its entirety and smacks his hands together to get rid of the crumbs clinging to his fingers. It takes a few suspenseful moments of chewing noises and Mingyu tapping his feet to an incomprehensible rhythm before Wonwoo speaks again. “Nice place.”

 

The whole thing is anticlimactic, more so than Mingyu had expected, but maybe that just meant that they weren’t that much of enemies as he’d thought? A truce is still a truce, be it a dramatic union or not, and Mingyu is definitely not complaining.

 

It would’ve been a sweeter victory if Wonwoo hadn’t littered the floor with cookie bits in the process, because Mingyu isn’t too keen on dealing with an imminent roach problem. But at the very least, Mingyu’s plan is a success— Wonwoo accepted the peace offering— so he can let the crumbs thing slide, even if cockroaches do end up taking residence as new roomies. Can’t be any more annoying than Junhui already is, anyway.

 

Wonwoo has already left the coffee table by this point, socked feet padding along the laminate flooring as he explores the dorm from corner to corner. The whole visual just gives Mingyu more reason to liken the other boy to a cat, what with his exploring and obvious lack of care for Mingyu’s personal space.

 

Wonwoo stops to poke at one of the many artificial plants Junhui has decorated their shared space with (because real ones require the commitment that neither of them possess), seemingly trying to decipher if its leaves are fake or not. He also fiddles with the Pikachu bobblehead on their windowsill and rearranges a pillow on the couch that was not quite level with the rest.

 

Memories of that kitten on Wonwoo’s messenger profile picture flood back into the foggy recesses of Mingyu’s mind, and he decides _yeah,_ that’s an accurate representation. It’s not fucking helping that Wonwoo’s bundled up in layers of knit and fleece, and he looks tiny in comparison to all the fabric keeping him warm. It’s rather… what’s the word for it… cute?

 

 _No._ Mingyu is horrified at himself. Not for finding someone cute, no, but for finding _Wonwoo_ cute. He has to shut his mind down before he does something catastrophically stupid— such as, voicing his thoughts aloud— and is forced to throw his whole person away.

 

He’s more of a dog person, anyway. _But cats are cute too._

 

Mingyu needs to purge his brain. Scrub and cleanse himself. Mingyu’s a pretty sorry excuse for a supposedly sentient being.

 

All he has to do is divert his attention back to the matter at hand, and create a distraction for himself and Wonwoo. Scratch that, it’s mainly for himself.

 

_Make small talk. Ask a friendly question. Anything, quick._

 

“So, what can a guy do to make you, uh, like me from here?”

 

_Fucking nailed it._

 

Wonwoo may or may not have frozen at the question, (Mingyu can’t tell, because Wonwoo is like a negative two on the emotion scale), but he gives Mingyu a stare like he’s grown a second head. “I don’t _not_ like you.”

 

Mingyu’s brain isn’t equipped with the required intelligence and speed to decipher double negatives and not nots. He mulls over it for a while— because what the actual fuck does that mean? Mingyu doesn’t want to be the one to jump the gun, so he settles for the more acceptable explanation that maybe Wonwoo got tongue-tied and meant to say ‘I _do not_ like you’ instead.

 

Wonwoo walks over to pick up another cookie, this time taking a bite out of it with nary a moment’s hesitation. Mingyu has to blink twice to make sure he isn’t imagining the light in the other boy’s eyes when he speaks next.

 

“For what it’s worth, your cookies are good, so you're starting to win me over.”

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

This isn’t right. Mingyu scribbles over his workings for the third time, because all these damn numbers are ugly, they don’t make sense, and most importantly, they’re tripping him the fuck out. The tip of the pen catches on the paper, and while it doesn’t actually rip, the pen leaves behind tears that are certainly not microscopic.

 

Mingyu is straddling the thin line separating sanity from unprecedented panic.

 

He thinks he must’ve either overestimated Wonwoo’s capacity for teaching, or underestimated his capacity for learning. It’s probably the latter, because under Wonwoo’s guidance, Mingyu manages to complete a record-breaking three questions in the two hours following their awkward conversation.

 

It’s as good as it gets, considering how Wonwoo’s tutoring methods are not exactly what one would call conventional.

 

No, not at all. Rather, the boy is happily settled onto Mingyu’s bed, under the excuse that there’s only one chair to the study table, and that he couldn’t be too near to stupid, lest he became stupid too. They hadn’t been able to steal Junhui’s chair either, as the pile of unwashed clothes and visible underwear were a deterrent even Mingyu couldn’t bring himself to overcome.

 

Wonwoo calls bullshit on Mingyu and Junhui’s practice of not owning any dining chairs, and says it’s poor interior design. Mingyu begs to differ. Eating while cross-legged on the floor has its serious perks. There’s nothing like having to squeeze around a small coffee table, shoulder-to-shoulder and knee-bumping-knee to forcibly bring people closer together. Plus, it helps with posture.

 

But screw brotherhood and screw camaraderie, because they needed a chair, and Mingyu had none to spare. Wonwoo is still sitting on his bed.

 

_(“You can have my chair?”_

 

_Wonwoo raises a brow at this. “I think you need it more than I do, Mingyu.”_

 

_“You can sit on my bed then?” Mingyu scratches at his chin. “Or the floor, I just vacuumed it yesterday.”_

 

_“Yesterday? Gross. I can’t study without a table.”_

 

_“What are you, a princess?”_

 

_Wonwoo shrugs, and goes to select a book from Mingyu’s library— it’s really just a bunch of crappy romance novels interspersed with the occasional mint self-help book he’s collected over the years, but at least it makes him look smart— before climbing into Mingyu’s bed.)_

 

Mingyu’s cookies have proven to be a magical artifact of some sort, because Wonwoo’s awfully comfortable for someone who’s supposedly in their enemy’s — frenemy, whatever— territory. Mingyu is happy enough to believe that it just means they’re simply not feuding anymore. It works out somehow— Wonwoo gets to lounge on the bed with the tray of cookies and a bottle of grape Calpis, and Mingyu gets to study at his table.

 

If this is what world peace feels like, Mingyu could get used to it.

 

Except that Mingyu still fucking _needs_ Wonwoo to explain the answers to him, which the latter _can’t_ do if he continues lounging on the bed.

 

“Wonwoo, pay attention to me. What kind of shitty tutor are you?”

 

“Do you need my constant attention?” Wonwoo answers with a scoff. He dog-ears the page of his book before setting it down. “I swear, you're as needy as a Tamagotchi.”

 

“Can I die as quickly as one? Is Tamagotchi suicide a thing? Because I can get behind that right now.”

 

It’s mostly just Mingyu’s frustration speaking, because it’s not some secret that he turns into a monster whenever he makes an attempt to mathematise mathematics. (That’s also another reason why Hansol— and nearly all his friends, for that matter— refuse to be in the same room as Mingyu when he’s tackling his one true nemesis. Only Jisoo comes close to tolerating him, and that’s because Jisoo is as lovely as an angel on their first day in heaven, and Mingyu is the mathematical embodiment of the devil. They cancel each other out.)

 

“Not if I kill you first,” Wonwoo replies, but at least he hops off the bed and makes his way over to Mingyu.

 

Wonwoo still doesn’t have a place to sit, so he settles for resting his weight against the backrest of Mingyu’s swivel chair, awkwardly looking over his shoulder instead. His head casts a looming shadow across the paper. Mingyu doesn’t have a table lamp, which just means his vision is obscured, and as helpful as Wonwoo has been with math, boy, is it _annoying._ Mingyu swings his chair around, ready to give him a little nudge and—

 

“Oh, _fuck._ Mingyu!”

 

Cold liquid soaks through the sleeve of Mingyu’s shirt and runs down the entire length of his right arm. The shock has Mingyu physically jumping in his seat, and all it takes is a quick glance southwards before the damage is plain. The innocent worksheets on his table have unwillingly taken a bath as well, and Mingyu can see the inked scrawl of his writing slowly dissolving into… Wonwoo’s soda.

 

 _For fuck’s sake._ Mingyu snaps his head up and there’s a frozen Wonwoo peering at him with a wide-eyed expression, a terribly incriminating piece of evidence clutched to his chest— an uncapped and now half-empty bottle of soda.

 

Forget it, Mingyu has cannon-balled his ass straight past panic and right into the unforgiving depths of despair.

 

He’s ready to stab his Pilot pen into Wonwoo’s arm with enough strength to leave behind a small dent, or maybe beat the boy to the ground with a bolster. Just… something, because Mingyu had worked so hard on understanding those few problems, and everything is ruined just because Wonwoo had neglected to put a damn cap on his drink. But Mingyu feels all the energy dissipate right out of him, leaving him more than just a little tired, so he does neither.

 

He just _stares._ And Wonwoo stares right back.

 

There’s not so much tension in the room as there is discomfort. The air is so brittle it could snap, and even if it doesn’t, Mingyu thinks Wonwoo just might. The boy’s gaze falters every so often, eyes darting from corner to corner, but he doesn’t speak. Neither of them do. What is there to say?

 

No one is really at fault, and no amount of finger-pointing is going to sort this one out. Wonwoo shouldn’t have had his bottle open, and really, while this is all that Mingyu wants to focus on, he knows that he shouldn’t have swung his chair out so roughly, either.

 

Wonwoo relents first, gaze carrying over to the tray of cookies sitting forgotten on the bed, a silent reminder of their fragile truce, and now, a silent witness to an impending chaos. It’s been barely two hours in, and already their peace is on the verge of breaking into a thousand irreparable pieces.

 

He coughs, just once. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Just sit down, Wonwoo,” Mingyu says, rubbing his face with his hands.

 

Wonwoo pivots at this, turning to shuffle back to the bed, but Mingyu reaches out to grab him by the arm. Why he does so, he can’t quite explain, because his mind has gone into a complete shut-down and his mouth has switched to auto-pilot.

 

“—no, I meant that we can share the chair. It’s big enough, and you’re small. I mean—” Mingyu inhales. “I’m left-handed, you’re right-handed. Just sit down.”

 

Mingyu knows vaguely that he’s speaking, that those are actual words leaving his mouth, but he can’t even hear himself right now, because nothing is registering in his brain. If there’s one thing that he can’t forget, though, it’s just how much he sucks at calculus, and how there isn’t much time left for him to stop sucking at it.

 

Everything about this is stupid, yes, but Mingyu desperately needs to _study._ Sharing a cushion chair with Jeon Wonwoo is the least of his worries. Hell, he’d even share a _bed_ with Jeon Wonwoo, if it ever guaranteed that he would pass his finals and make it to the next year.

 

Still, he knows that it’s a lot to ask of the boy, especially since they are hardly friends, barely acquaintances, and Mingyu really is a handful. He desperately tries to backtrack, but it’s all too little, too late, because for all he has said about Wonwoo being invasive, Mingyu is the one being presumptuous and arrogant right now.

 

“Or not, I mean. You don’t have to, you’ve already done enough—“

 

Mingyu’s taking every opportunity and shooting every shot at this point, and it’s kind of similar to jumping off of cliffs and hoping he has a working parachute as he nears terminal velocity. It’s a fifty-fifty bet this time, because Wonwoo is the keeper of the last parachute, and Mingyu is just clinging to his legs and praying to reach the ground in one piece.

 

But Wonwoo doesn’t have any obligations to save his ass, and Mingyu can only wait as the boy mulls over the suggestion, eyebrows drawn into a little frown.

 

Mingyu doesn’t expect Wonwoo to be any more charitable than he already is— he has already done enough by even _offering_ to tutor Mingyu’s sad, mopey head. So he’s ready to give up and call it a day when he hears Wonwoo say, “I mean— We have a truce, don’t we?”

 

It’s comforting in its own way, when Wonwoo’s giving him a smile that’s still a little awkward around the edges, but it’s enough for Mingyu. The tightness in his chest is back, and it tugs sharply at his heart several times before relenting.

 

It leaves warmth in its wake.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

“You can’t just divide two equations and leave out what you don’t like, Mingyu— pick up your damn pen, are you even listening to me?” Wonwoo takes a stab at the worksheet with his pen, and it leaves a scratch of blue ink on the paper.

 

Mingyu rubs his finger over the stain, but it just smudges upon contact. “Jesus, Wonwoo, I don't have to write everything down to remember.”

 

“How else would it go into your head, via fucking _osmosis?”_ Wonwoo jabs Mingyu in the side with his elbow and _ow,_ maybe sharing a seat wasn’t the best idea. “Stop being an idiot.”

 

Mingyu sniffs. He should be offended, because for him to stop being an idiot, it implies that he already has to _be_ one.

 

Wonwoo’s looking legitimately annoyed, eyes narrowed as he snatches the paper over and erases Mingyu’s workings with more force than necessary. (Wonwoo has confiscated all of Mingyu’s pens and begun replacing them with mechanical pencils, because “there is only that many times you can use correction tape to hide your sins”.) The paper almost rips in half.

 

Mingyu can certainly hear Wonwoo mumbling under his breath, considering how they are still sitting _shoulder-to-shoulder,_ on the same chair, but it’s still hard to make out any words clearly when the other boy is busy cursing his stupidity and carelessness.

 

“Are you talking to yourself?”

 

“It’s the only way I can have an intelligent conversation right now,” Wonwoo snaps, “so yes, I _am_ talking to myself.”

 

“Damn.” Mingyu recoils just a little, “Are you always this cranky?”

 

There’s a hardness in his voice when Wonwoo says, “Try again, Mingyu.”

 

“What for? I’m never going to get this right, I don’t know why I bother,” Mingyu says, shoulders sagging in disappointment.

 

It earns him a solid glare, but it’s nothing that Mingyu can’t match. The staredown is short-lived, though, because Wonwoo gives in. _Again._

 

“Stop— Stop having the mentality of a fruitcake.”

 

“A _fruitcake,”_ Mingyu repeats. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo mumbles, and he resumes his task of erasing all of Mingyu’s mistakes away till they are invisible little indents on the paper. “Stop being all crumbly.”

 

“Right. Crumbly.” Mingyu tilts his chin up, gearing himself up as he does so. “Tough times don’t last, tough people do.”

 

“I hate you and what you just said.”

 

Wonwoo’s words are curt, but the amusement in his tone says otherwise, and it’s alarming just how quickly the mood lightens, and Mingyu lets himself breathe comfortably again.

 

“You don’t mean that,” he dares to say.

 

Mingyu can’t see Wonwoo’s face, not when they’re seated side by side. But he swears he hears a smile in Wonwoo’s voice. (He does steal a quick peek though, just to double check. Sure enough, Wonwoo doesn’t look like he’s two seconds away from choking Mingyu anymore.)

 

“Maybe.”

 

“I swear I’m not giving up on calculus, I was just throwing a tantrum. You’re not mad, are you?”

 

Wonwoo shakes his head, and they’re back to minding their own business. As much as two single university students sharing a single seat in a single room can, anyway.

 

They’re in the middle of finishing homework together (with Mingyu trying his absolute hardest to copy discreetly off of Wonwoo’s paper) when his phone lights up with a call.

 

Wonwoo doesn’t react in the slightest as Mingyu answers it.

 

“What is it, Cheol?”

 

 _That,_ on the other hand, has Wonwoo perking up a little, and his pen stops writing for a split second before it returns to the worksheets. But Mingyu knows he’s listening.

 

“Now, now,” Seungcheol’s voice starts, “I’m not saying that you’d be the primary suspect if my cousin ever went missing, but that’s exactly what I’m trying to say.”

 

_What?_

 

“Wonwoo’s not home yet, and I know his lessons ended _five_ hours ago. I called to ask if you’ve seen him? Or kidnapped him, I don’t know, either way works. Wait, please don’t tell me you kidnapped him.”

 

Mingyu looks over his shoulder. There’s Wonwoo seated right next to him, scribbling away at piece after piece of paper, the same way he has been for over an hour now.

 

“Yeah. I mean— _No_. He’s at my place.”

 

“Mingyu,” comes Seungcheol’s reply. There’s an echo-y quality to his voice and he sounds really far away, and Mingyu assumes his friend has him on speaker mode.

 

“Stop messing with me, Mingyu. Tell me where he really is. Did you _eat_ him?”

 

“I’m not even kidding right now.”

 

“Shit, no, are you serious? You can’t be serious. Put him on the phone.”

 

Wonwoo is already holding his hand out by the time Mingyu passes the phone over. The action is awfully familiar, and this time, Mingyu prays that he doesn’t need to relive the horror of having his contacts messed around with.

 

It’s impossible to eavesdrop, not that it’s something Mingyu would ever admit to doing, anyway. How did Wonwoo do it? Seungcheol’s voice is so muffled, and there’s no place for a third person in a one-to-one call, especially when the third person is trying to stick their nose in other people’s business.

 

Wonwoo taps his pen against Mingyu’s table, and his point is clear— _get to work—_ and because he has nothing better to do, Mingyu complies.

 

It takes several moments for him to realise that Wonwoo has gone silent for a while now, seconds before he registers the unmistakable feeling creeping down his spine as _Wonwoo looking at him._

 

Instinctively, Mingyu looks over and he immediately regrets it because he catches Wonwoo staring, and this time, it’s hella awkward because he _doesn’t_ look away. The expression on Wonwoo’s face is unreadable, like he’s trying to figure something— or rather, someone _—_ out.

 

Or maybe it’s just because Mingyu isn’t that proficient in deciphering Wonwoo’s thoughts and feelings, either, and he’s making a bunch of conjectures that don’t make too much sense. They are one and the same in that way— both trying to figure the other out. Cautious, yet a little curious.

 

Wonwoo doesn’t look away, and Mingyu doesn’t know what else to do but give him a smile. It’s not entirely bright, because a bright-ass smile is probably not the most appropriate in this situation, but it is genuine.

 

It’s only then that Wonwoo turns away, murmuring a reply to his cousin on the phone.

 

_“Yeah, I will.”_

 

Mingyu doesn’t get an answer when he asks Wonwoo about the conversation. What he _does_ get, though, is his phone back with every single one of his contacts in order, so he doesn’t press it further, lest his good streak of fortune runs out.

 

When Wonwoo finally excuses himself to leave, the sun has set, and there’s a crick in Mingyu’s neck as he stands to see his guest off. The previous record set by Hansol was a mere forty-two minutes, and even then most of the time was spent with a great amount of screeching, before he had to throw in the towel and send Mingyu off on his merry way to Failure.

 

Mingyu figures he’s probably indebted to Wonwoo for the foreseeable future, and so he allows him to pack all of the remaining cookies back home in a baggie. It’d be no surprise if Seungcheol and Hansol end up stealing them off of Wonwoo’s hands, so Mingyu makes sure to pop a cookie or two into Wonwoo’s mouth before he leaves.

 

The boy’s already halfway out the door when Mingyu calls his name. Wonwoo pauses at his voice and cocks his head, an eyebrow arched in question.

 

“I’ll get you a chair for next time.”

 

 _Next time._ Neither of them have even so far as mentioned a word that could _suggest_ there would a next time, so it’s really on an assumption that Mingyu is taking the biggest leap of faith his legs can take. Factor in his height, and the fact that he’s mostly legs, and yeah— that’s one hell of a leap.

 

Wonwoo beats him to it though, because he isn’t surprised at all— it isn’t unlikely that they are thinking the same thought, or rather, assuming the same assumption.

 

“Okay,” he says after a pause, and it’s with a little smile that Wonwoo leaves, his eyes crinkling, his nose scrunching and Mingyu’s heart fluttering… just a tiny bit. Mingyu catches himself before he actually falls on his face.

 

“Same time tomorrow then, Mingyu.”

 

The door closes behind him with a soft click, and Mingyu’s gaze lingers on it for longer than it should have.

 

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

 

“Does this mean you will be his friend from now on, Wonwoo?”

 

Seungcheol’s voice is contemplative.

 

Wonwoo glances over. Sure enough, Mingyu’s working hard at the question he has been stuck on for the past fifteen minutes. His knee is bouncing in that unattractive habit he has when he’s thinking, and his pencil taps periodically against the tabletop.

 

It’s the most peace they’ve had since the first day they met, and a far cry from all of the many occasions where they’ve almost clawed each other’s eyeballs out since then. Everything somehow leads up to now, they’re holed up in Mingyu’s dorm and sharing a single chair, working towards a similar goal.

 

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Mingyu is everything Wonwoo isn’t.

 

Wonwoo doesn’t let himself think even for a second, that someone _this_ noisy and enthusiastic would sit well with someone as snappy as himself, so he almost snorts at Seungcheol’s question. Mingyu’s definitely too loud and bouncy for Wonwoo’s liking, it kind of reminds him of a giant, excitable puppy dog. The boy even has a pair of sharp canine teeth to match.

 

Wonwoo has always been more inclined towards cats.

 

It’s also a little hard for Wonwoo to get used to the guy, because it’s not everyday someone dares to trample on the clear boundary lines he sets in stone to everyone he meets. It’s even rarer for someone to be so blatantly _obvious_ about doing it.

 

“Yo, Wonwoo? You there?” Seungcheol’s voice cracks over the receiver, just as Wonwoo nearly forgets that he’s on a call. “I asked if you’re gonna be friends with Mingyu or not.”

 

Friendship between cats and dogs? A ludicrous thing.

 

Mingyu looks back at him, but Wonwoo finds it hard for him to look away, because how does one manage to be so stupid and one-dimensional and yet, so hard to figure out? Whatever they have is strange— they are now bound together, all the way into the considerable future, by a flimsy peace agreement more reminiscent of kindergarteners than grown, adult men. It’s stupid and immature, but perhaps there’s still a chance that they _could_ be friends.

 

Wonwoo isn’t entirely sure, so he doesn’t give Seungcheol an answer.

 

But it’s when Mingyu decides to give him a smile, that he surrenders for now, and lets down his guard a bit. There’s nothing special about it, because Mingyu smiles too widely for his own good and his nose does this weird thing and really, Wonwoo doesn’t _get_ Mingyu, but it leaves a strange warmth running through him from head to toe someway, somehow.

 

_“Yeah, I will.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy november! this update is a little short, but I do have the next two chapters done up and waiting to be beta-ed :'-)
> 
> please let me know what you think about it in the comments! 
> 
> as always, thank you for taking the time to read ♡  
> I (barely) do twitter, so if you'd like to chat, its @bbaekstillcute!


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